Manor House

[sigmabody]

This is a story I wrote as an extrapolation of a fairly involved daydream I had. I hope it is interesting and/or amusing, but first, a few disclaimers: - I am not an author by trade, traning, or talent, so Caveat Lector - It's a little long, but I wanted to make it more realistic and filled out than the typical internet fantasy story - I don't have any male heeling in the story; nothing against it, at all, it just doesn't figure into my daydream - Apologies about formatting... I guess the forum eats tab/space, at least when text is copied in (paragraphs are supposed to be indented for readability). If a mod would like to fix this, I wouldn't be opposed at all. Hopefully I'll be able to post this all, don't know what the limits on the forum are, might take a few posts... but enjoy.

[sigmabody]

Chapter 1: Investigation

It was called the Manor House, at least according to her friend who had often told stories about when she had lived there for a while. It was not really a house, though, so much as an estate, tucked away in the hills above the city. Secluded and private, it was in many aspects the stereotypical compound where one might find a rich old man, indulging his eccentricities. At this point, though, Stacy didn’t particularly care what the particulars were; the story was that the owner provided free room and board for woman willing to meet the conditions of residence, and that was something she desperately needed at the moment.

Stacy was, as the saying goes, down on her luck. More specifically, she found herself recently without a job due to the economic downturn, and reluctant to accept the conditions for resuming her previous employment. Like many young women, Stacy had taken the trip out to Hollywood a few years ago, hoping to break into acting, and become the latest starlet. Then, also like many women before her, she found herself doing whatever work she could find while she went to auditions, and quickly exhausting the meager savings she had brought with her. For a while she had a steady job doing exotic dancing (she had a reasonable body, fit and trim, although a little on the skinny side on top for the profession), but when it became clear that the manager wanted her to be more “friendly” with the patrons than she was willing to be, she knew it was time to move on. Since then it had been this and that, hourly work, while she struggled to make rent.

It was after Stacy got the second eviction warning, and broke down crying thinking about giving up her acting dreams and moving back to live with her parents, that she remembered the story of the Manor House. A quick internet search (that, at least, was paid through the end of the month) revealed that it had a web site, some basic information, and a phone number for “prospective residents”. She glanced through the online information: the house looked impressive, but there were no residents in the pictures, and the site just said to call for details. There was also a short list of requirements for prospective residents, which included female, fit, personable, and a willingness to abide by the rules of the house; all of which seemed benign enough. “What the hell,” thought Stacy, “might as well inquire.”

After a couple a rings, the phone was picked up, and a pleasant female voice on the other end rattled off a standard greeting, “Manor House, may I help you?”

“Uh, yeah,” stammered out Stacy, somewhat surprised to be speaking to a real person in this day and age, and especially one without a perceptible foreign accent, “I just wanted to know about the house... is it possible to live there?” As soon as the words were out, Stacy felt a tinge of embarrassment; she hadn’t prepared anything to say in case the number was not a pre-recorded message.

Fortunately, the woman on the other end laughed it off, “Why yes, we do accept applications for consideration, and if you are selected you can reside in the Manor House. Are you interested in attending our informational meeting?”

Stacy was, in fact, interested, but she had one more important question to ask. “Yes,” she said, “but I need to ask something first. I don’t have very much money, but the person I heard about Manor House from said people can stay there for free. Is that true? I don’t want to waste any one's time if it was some sort of joke.”

“Well,” the woman responded, “it’s not necessarily free, but if you are accepted, it’s guaranteed to be affordable, no matter how much money you have or make. I could explain more, but you should just come to the meeting; don’t worry about money, though. Seriously, I know it sounds fishy, but it’s part of the program we have set up for the women who stay at the house.”

“Okay,” said Stacy, “when is the next meeting?”

She got the details from the nice woman: there was an orientation meeting every Friday morning at a building near the Manor House; Stacy got the time and directions. It was probably about 20 minutes away with no traffic, which meant she should allow 45 minutes at least. “Looks like I’m getting up early next Friday,” she mused, “good thing I don’t have any other pressing things to do.” At least today was Wednesday; she wouldn’t have too long to wait.

[sigmabody]

Chapter 2: Orientation

Friday morning brought an early rise, and a trip to the gas station along the way; Stacy knew her bank balance was dangerously low, and she had been only getting enough fuel for each week at a time. Unlike some of her friends, she was cautious about running up credit card debt, so she was almost debt-free; however, the last couple of months had been tough, and she was currently slightly in the hole. She had enough gas to get to the orientation meeting now, though, at least as far as the directions she had looked up indicated, and off she went, her ancient car once again obliging.

The location itself was in the hills just outside the main city area, and by the time Stacy got there it looked like she had driven into the country somewhere. She pulled up to a gate, where a guard gave her car the once over, asked what she was there for, and pointed her to a parking lot beside a small building. There were a few other cars there, and when Stacy got out she noticed a sign indicating the meeting location inside. She followed the arrow, and soon found herself at a desk outside a room, with a sign-in sheet. She also noticed several cameras around and inside the building; they were unobtrusive, but noticeable (not unlike a Vegas casino, for example). Once she had provided her name and email, she was pointed into the room, where there were a group of other women who had already arrived. Stacy took a seat on the side, and waited.

She didn’t have long to wait before she heard the distinctive click of high heels on the floor outside, and a well-dressed woman entered the room. She was a petite asian woman, dressed on a form-fitting business suit type outfit. When she took her seat at the front of the room facing the rest of the group, Stacy could see that she had some high platform heals on as well; she was probably barely five feet without them.

“Hello,” she said, “my name is Melissa, and I’m here to give you an introduction to Manor House. I am an employee of the Manor House Management Organization, a non-profit organization which runs the program under which the owner allows women to stay at the house, and I will be giving you a brief overview of the program we run, and then answering questions. This meeting shouldn’t take more than a half an hour or so, after which if any of you are interested in applying for consideration, I have the appropriate paperwork. So, let’s get started.”

Melissa then proceeded to give a brief history of the house itself: it was the personal residence of a Mr. Song, who established the non-profit to allow other people to stay there, essentially to keep the large estate from feeling very empty, and, added Melissa, to create a pleasant environment in which he could reside. Mr. Song, obviously, was a man of some wealth, and funded most of the non-profits operations through personal contributions. The rest came from the residents themselves, as Melissa explained.

“In order to stay at Manor House, the non-profit requires a contribution of 30% of the total income of all people staying as part of the program. Yes, this means that if you have no income, you don’t have to pay anything to reside there. As a non-profit accepting donations, we cannot force you to contribute anything; however, if it is discovered that you did not contribute the required amount, you will be removed from the program and forced to leave Manor House. Usually the residents find this requirement very generous, given the quality of the facilities and the amenities provided.”

“Other than the contributions, the only other requirement for residents is an adherence to the rules for the program. If any participant is found in violation of the rules, they can be removed from the program and forced to leave. We have no had very many problems with rule violations, but we also try to ensure that anyone accepted into the program is comfortable with the rules, and will have no trouble adhering to there. The rules are as follows,” continued Melissa, standing to write them as bullet points on the white board behind her for emphasis.

“Rule number one: security. Manor House is monitored by extensive security, and all residents must be comfortable being monitored, visually and otherwise, at all times while on the premises. Yes, this includes in your own rooms, and potentially all other places. This is for your protection, as well as the protection of the other residents, and anyone not comfortable with this requirement is hereby discouraged from applying. I can see that there are some questions,” continued Melissa, as several of the women present were clearly less comfortable with this condition, “and I will be happy to answer them once I am done with the main presentation.”

Stacy wasn’t sure how she felt about being watched all the time, but the truth was it didn’t actually bother her all that much. After all, she had done exotic dancing, and the men watching her then were probably significantly less professional than security people monitoring cameras. That also made the obvious camera’s Stacy had noticed in this building make more sense, she thought.

“Rule number two: personal health and conduct. At no time is drug use permitted for residents, nor excessive drinking. You will be tested for drugs as part of normal medical checkups. Residents are also required to stay reasonably fit and healthy; there are several facilities for doing so on the estate, and regular programs. You are also required to conduct yourself with decorum and respect the other residents and visitors. Basically, be nice and friendly to the other people at Manor House.”

“So far,” thought Stacy, “pretty standard stuff.” The drug use prohibition wouldn’t be a problem; Stacy had never done any serious drugs. Same for hard drinking; she had some friends that were known to get wasted easily and often, but it wasn’t something she enjoyed. Staying fit shouldn’t be a problem, either, and being friendly was just a matter of effort. So far, then, no sweat.

“The last rule,” continued Melissa, “is going to sound odd, but I’ll explain: all residents under the program are required to wear high heels at all times while at Manor House, aside from within their personal rooms or while engaged in activities which would prohibit such, such as swimming or sports or the like. This is for a few reasons: it helps encourage attention to appearance, it discourages juvenile behavior, and it indulges a personal preference of the owner. The type and style are at the discretion of each resident, but four inches or higher is the norm, not counting platforms.”

“Well,” thought Stacy, “that is a little odd.” Not that she would have any problem with it, she thought; after all, the heels she wore for dancing were quite a bit higher than that. Still, wearing heels around all day might get pretty tiring after a while; she wasn’t sure how that would work out. On the other hand, if that was the worst she would have to endure for effectively free rent, and a chance to stay in LA long enough to chase her dream, it didn’t seem that bad: surely aspiring actresses had done much worse in pursuit of that dream.

“That’s all for the rules,” said Melissa, “there are a few other small details which we can go over for people who are still interested in applying, but those are the big items. I can see from your faces that a few of you are no longer interested, which is fine; Manor House is certainly not for everyone, and as I said, we don’t want anyone staying there who is not comfortable with the rules. If you don’t think you would be comfortable, don’t feel like you have to stay any longer; the rest of the presentation is more aimed at people who might decide to apply. I’ll pause now, so anyone who wants to leave now can do so.”

Sure enough, several of the women got up to leave, and Stacy caught at least one dirty look directed at Melissa, although none of the women said anything. “That was hardly fair,” she thought, “it’s not like Melissa is making the rules, she’s just making the presentation.” Moreover, it wasn’t like someone was making the women come here, or try to stay at the house. “What is it today,” she pondered, philosophically, “when people get upset if handouts come with conditions?” Melissa waited until everyone who was leaving had left, then continued.

“There are a few other benefits to being a resident in the program, aside from just the room and board. The house has free food, which residents are welcome to, as well as regular prepared meals. The program also includes fully-paid health care for residents, and it is pretty top notch. There are also regular classes hosted at the estate, exercise and otherwise. Finally, there may be additional benefits to being a resident, based on the reputation of Manor House within the local community, but these are ancillary.”

“That concludes the regular presentation,” said Melissa, “I can now answer any questions you might have.”

Several hands were raised, and Melissa called on each in turn. Someone asked about being monitored even in the bathroom, to which the answer was yes. There were a couple questions about the specifics of the health care benefits, which Melissa went through. Then someone asked an interesting question: if Melissa herself was a resident. She smiled, and confirmed that she was indeed living at Manor House, under the same rules she just presented. “Well,” thought Stacy, “I guess her shoes certainly meet the qualifications for the last rule.” There were a couple more mundane questions, then nothing.

“Well,” said Melissa, “if there are no further questions, then I suppose we’re done. I have application forms if you are still interested; you can fill them out here if you want, or take them home, it’s your choice. If you are selected for a follow-up interview, we will notify you, and if we like you in the interview, we just might accept you into the program.”

Stacy hadn’t heard anything to really dissuade her from at least applying for the program, so she picked up an application, and went ahead and filled it out on the spot. “What the heck,” she though, “it’s only an application, and I can always back out if I don’t like the people or place during the interview.” She also noticed that the application form itself was refreshingly light on asking for personal details; it was nice to have a form which didn’t ask for her social security number, for example. That was also reassuring; if she didn’t like the place, at least she wouldn’t have given them all of her personal information. With the form added to the small pile on Melissa’s desk, and a wave, Stacy made her way back to her car, and back down the hill to her apartment.

[sigmabody]

Chapter 3: Interview

It was later that afternoon when Stacy’s phone rang, and the caller ID identified the call as a callback from Manor House. “Hello?” said Stacy, somewhat unsure what to make of the quick response.

“Hello Stacy, this is Melissa calling back. I’ve reviewed your application, and it seems like you might be the type of person we’re looking for for the program. I’d like to schedule an interview for you, if you’re still interested.”

“Of course,” said Stacy, with slightly more conviction than she actually felt at the time. It wasn’t like she was having second thoughts, but all of this was happening a little quickly, and normally Stacy needed to think things through a bit more.

“Well, we have openings at various times this week. What day and time would work best for you?”

Stacy thought for a second, then, realizing she didn’t have anything better to do, and her impending eviction was less than a week away now, said, “well, can I come in this evening?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, then Melissa came back, “yes, I think that will work; I just had to check some scheduling. I will put you down for 7:00 pm, if that works for you.”

“Yes, that will work,” said Stacy, briefly considering if she actually had enough gas in her car for the return trip, or enough money in her bank account if she did not. “I should be fine,” she thought, “it didn’t seem like that long of a trip there.”

“Excellent,” said Melissa, “we can meet at Manor House itself, which is the next gate up the road from where we met this morning. I will leave word with the guard to be expecting you, and meet you at the parking structure. You don’t need to bring anything in particular, but you should wear the highest heels that you are comfortable walking around in. Oh, and you don’t need to eat dinner before, we’ll have food here. Any questions?”

“Nope,” said Stacy, “I will see you at seven.”

Meeting at seven gave Stacy a few hours to kill, so she decided to take a nap; that didn’t work too well, though, since she was very preoccupied with thinking about the interview, and Manor House in general. About a half hour later she abandoned the nap idea, and decided instead to do a full body scrub, and just spend extra time preparing herself. “Might as well look as good as possible,” she mused, “it’s not like looks don’t count for something in interviews, no matter what HR departments like to say.” With that in mind, she took a good hour in the bathroom, and afterwards dug into her closet to find the boxes of packed away shoes from her dancing days.

“Which to wear...” she thought, remembering the various outfits she had worn, and trying to recall how each felt, and which ones were more comfortable than others. Eventually she decided on some classic black strappy heels, with about a six inch heel and one inch platform; she had a few higher pairs, but Stacy was pretty sure she had never walked in them further than between backstage and a pole, whereas these had been easy to mingle in the clubs while wearing. Now that the shoes were decided, Stacy had to come up with an outfit to match; something nice, but not too revealing... but not too conservative either, given the shoes. Eventually she settled on a short-ish black dress which was tasteful enough for an evening out, but not too dressy. “Although,” she mused, while evaluating the entire outfit, “it does look decidedly more provocative with these shoes.” Melissa had said the highest shoes she could wear, though, so this was probably fine, she thought, if not expected.

With the outfit decided, and the makeup applied, Stacy decided to leave a little early, in case she hit traffic. This turned out to be a smart move, as there was actually considerable traffic, and Stacy found herself arriving at the gate to Manor House at almost exactly 7pm. Sure enough, there was another guard house, and when she told the guard her name, he gave her directions to a parking structure a bit inside the estate, and told her he would phone Melissa to meet her there. Stacy found the parking structure easily enough; it was partially underground, and near a large apartment-style building. “How odd,” she thought, “to have a parking structure on a private estate, and especially with this many cars inside.” Even with a number of cars already in the structure, though, Stacy had no trouble finding a spot, and there were plenty more available: clearly this structure was designed to hold enough cars for major events, or the like. This made Stacy curious as to just how large this estate was, and what events were held here; she didn’t have long to wonder, though, because as soon as she made her way to the front of the structure, she saw Melissa approaching.

Melissa was dressed in same business suit styled outfit that she had worn earlier at the orientation meeting, walking at a brisk pace across the courtyard between the structure and the residence building. She greeted Stacy, and led her inside the main building, which was not unlike the lobby of an upscale hotel. Melissa explained that this was the main residence building for people staying at Manor House, and was set up like a cross between a hotel and a college dormitory: the bottom couple levels had meeting rooms, lounge areas, and a dining area, while the upper floors had individual suites where the residents stayed. “Although,” said Melissa, “it would be more accurate to say that the women here mostly just use their rooms for sleep, personal time, and just getting away; the rest of the time our residents are generally in common areas, or using the various facilities. The program, and Mr Song in particular, encourages interaction and socializing among the residents, and the grounds and facilities here are pretty excellent, as you will see.”

As the walked through the “lobby” of the building, Stacy could see several women, presumably other residents of the facility, hanging out, talking, and/or working on various projects. She had sorta been expecting to see all twenty-something young things, all of whom could be considered “eye candy”, but the reality didn’t really match that preconception, at least as far as the initial few women she observed. Yes, all the women seemed fit, which certainly helped for appearance, but they were also of various ages, and Stacy saw one woman she estimated at over fifty at least. The women also were not all really attractive; most were wearing makeup and dressed well, but it seemed like the residents were selected from all walks of life, and not just ones who could have gone into modeling. One thing was consistent, though: they all had high heels on, even the ones who were just lounging around.

“We have a few more residents than normal in the main building now,” said Melissa, as they made their way toward one of the more private side rooms, “because dinner time is coming up. We have a full dining facility with a resident chef, and we have dinner regularly at 7:30. Residents are encouraged to attend dinners if possible; not only is the food good, but it’s an excellent time to catch up with the other residents. It’s not mandatory, of course, but generally most of the residents do attend dinners. Oh, and I hope you’re hungry, because we’re going too. You see, being able to get along with the other residents, and enhance each other’s experience at Manor House, is really the main consideration for acceptance into the program, so this will give us an excellent opportunity to evaluate how the other residents take to you, and let you see what people here are like.”

By this time they had made their way to one of the side alcoves, where there were a set of meeting rooms, Stacy followed Melissa into the one she entered. Stacy had a seat, and Melissa closed the door behind her. As she looked around, she noticed a couple cameras; they were discrete, but not trying to be hidden. Melissa took a seat next to a small stack of papers which were already on the desk in the center of the room.

“Now these,” Melissa said, gesturing at the papers, “are some standard disclosures and forms, for all prospective residents. You can read them if you want, but they’re pretty standard. You’re welcome to fill them out now if you like, or we can wait to see if you’re approved by the acceptance committee; I like to be optimistic, though, and you seem like the kind of person who we would take to live here.”

“I’ll take that as a complement,” said Stacy, with a gentle smile, “and I’m flattered, but I still don’t know much about Manor House, aside from the rules. I did see you weren’t kidding about the heels thing; do all the women who live here have to follow that rule?”

Melissa nodded, “Yes, but I think many would take exception to thinking of it as ‘have to’. After a bit, it just sorta becomes a standard part of living here, and like anything else you get used to you don’t really think about it any more. Take these, for example,” she said, lifting her pant leg to give Stacy a better view of her shoes, which Stacy could now see were wide-strap sandals, with thin heels over which were at least five inches (but with probably a half-inch platform), “these are actually one of my lower heels, which I can wear around all day without thinking about it; I have higher ones for special occasions. But I don’t think about it as ‘having’ to wear them; I loved wearing high heels before I came here, and now I can wear them all the time, and have regular checkups with a podiatrist for free to make sure I’m not hurting myself doing so. I can’t speak for the other residents, but for me, it’s not a burden at all; in fact, it was actually pretty liberating. Also, between you and me, I think the selection committee looks for that as well: women for whom the rules are not really a burden, but more of an opportunity to be themselves. Of course,” she smiled, “that could just be me.”

“Huh...” said Stacy, and paused for a moment to contemplate while Melissa looked on. Part of the fun of dancing for her, when she was doing it, was to dress up in overly sexual outfits, and enjoy the feeling of being desired, and the one constant in exotic dancing outfits was really high heels. However, Stacy wasn’t the type of girl to wear heels all the time, and she always considered dancing to be a sort of “dress up” exercise. Of course she had “going out” shoes, and such, but it wasn’t like she ever got the urge to stroll around her apartment in her dancing shoes (aside from the one boyfriend who was really into that, but that was for his edification, not hers). But, how much of that was of her own choice, she wondered, and how much was a product of her conservative up-bringing, subconsciously influencing her perceptions of what was proper. It was something to think about, Stacy decided, even if they didn’t accept her to live at Manor House.

Melissa brought her back to the present, “Well, if you have any more questions, I’d be happy to address them, we have a few minutes before the dinner will be ready. I don’t really have anything specific to ask you; as I said before, our selection process is mainly about if candidates will be comfortable following the rules, and if they get along with the other residents and will enhance the living experience here for the rest of us.”

Stacy thought for a moment, before an obvious question popped into her head, “So... I saw some women of various ages when we walked through the lobby; are all the residents here single, without kids, or what’s the deal with that?”

“Ahh,” replied Melissa, “yes, more or less. The policy is that we don’t take residents who have children generally speaking, although the organization has made exceptions for a few special cases, usually on a short-term basis. Boyfriends are certainly permitted, and can visit, but the resident is responsible for their behavior while on the grounds. The same goes for regular friend visits, or family, or the like.”

“However,” she continued, “there are some logistical and... “practical” hurtles to deal with. First, most residents share rooms, so it’s not usually practical to have intimate relations at Manor House, unless special arrangements are made; it’s kinda like a college dorm in that sense. Also, a lot of the women don’t take family here, because they are worried about judgemental attitudes or comments, and how it might reflect on them. It’s important to remember that staying at Manor House is a privilege, not a right, and one of the only things that would get you kicked out once your accepted (other than violating the few rules) is creating an uncomfortable environment for other residents. I think you’ll find that for the people who live here, being allowed to live here is like winning the life lottery, in a lot of ways, and they really don’t want to screw it up.”

“I see...” said Stacy, and took a moment to think about her own situation. She was, after all, looking into Manor House as a means to stay in LA to pursue her dreams, and if it fell through she was likely to be forced to move back in with her parents, and away from her friends and life here; into the cramped house she grew up in, and living under her parent’s rules. Maybe she’d get a job at the local market or something, and the other local women could ask her why she hadn’t popped out a few kids yet. “Yeah,” thought Stacy, “I could see how you might be careful not to do anything to jeopardize your chance to stay here, and I haven’t even seen most of the place.”

Then, another thought occurred to her. “So, the women here, do they work at all? Or just kinda sit around all day?”

“Well,” replied Melissa, “having some sort of vocational ambition is strongly encouraged here, both for personal advancement and so that you can have some spending money. Although the program provides for basic needs like food and residence, everything else is generally the responsibility of the resident, which means still holding down a job. There are certainly a few women here who don’t currently work, at least for any paying job, but for the most part everyone still has ambitions and goals, and is working toward them. As I mentioned before, Manor House hosts regular classes, some of which are tailored toward job skills, and the program can provide some assistance for residents who just want a normal job to pay for routine expenses.”

“Also, as a side note,” she added, dropping her voice and adding a conspiratorial smile, “Mr Song has been known to take residents on shopping trips for appropriate shoes, if they happen to mention they are running low on footwear which conforms to the rules for Manor House. You didn’t hear that from me, though.”

“So most of the residents just work normal jobs, then, to pay for routine expenses?”

“Well, for the most part, yeah,” answered Melissa. “There are a few with more interesting vocations, but I will leave it to their discretion to share that information if they wish; I wouldn’t want to assume what people want to keep private. You can ask the other residents about it, when you are socializing with them, if you want. Speaking of which, we should head over to the dining hall area; it’s getting pretty close to dinner, and I’ve had a long day.”

Melissa got up, and Stacy followed her out of the conference room, and once again through the lobby area of the building. They walked to a new section of the building, where sliding doors opened into a room which reminded Stacy of a nice buffet-style restaurant in Las Vegas. There was, in fact, a large buffet area on one side, and a group of women gathered there, selecting from the various offerings which had been prepared. The seating was varied: it looked like there were some open areas with large tables, some more private booths, and maybe even some private rooms toward the side. The whole place had an upscale yet casual dining feel, and the background sounds of conversation had already begun amongst the women already seated.

“Serve yourself,” said Melissa, handing Stacy a tray from the pile at the end of the buffet line, “everything is good, although some things might be better than others, depending on your tastes. There’s also a short-order cook on staff,” she said, pointing to an area further back in the buffet section, “who can prepare special-order items. The selection is not as comprehensive as you might find at a real restaurant, but that’s because Manor House doesn’t like to waste food; there’s usually a few unique daily items, and then a set of staples which are less perishable. It’s pretty excellent for free food, though, in my opinion, but see what you think. I’ll catch up with you when you’re ready to sit, and we’ll find some people to eat with.” With that, Melissa turned her attention to the food selection, leaving Stacy to contemplate the same.

She wandered a bit along the rows, checking out the selection; it was, as Melissa described, pretty good, especially for a private residence. Then she remembered what she was wearing, and decided to go light on the carbs and heavy on the salads; eating healthy was something she thought about more frequently when dressed in something revealing, and she hadn’t dressed this provocatively since her time at the gentleman’s club. Looking around, though, it didn’t seem like she was out of place with her attire: there were certainly other women in similarly dressed-up outfits. In fact, she decided, the ubiquitous prevalence of very high heels among all the diners made most of the outfits look dressed-up; for example, one of the women she spotted was wearing a loose shirt and faded jeans, with pant legs short enough to show off shiny black strappy gladiator-style sandal heels, which matched the rest of the outfit perfectly, as if she just stepped out from a fashion shoot.

There was a strange, but intriguing, vibe here, Stacy decided, as she continued to survey the women in the dining room. It somewhat reminded her of a sorority house, where all the women dressed as models, but were all otherwise normal looking. There were some very attractive women, to be sure, and all the women she saw were certainly slim, but otherwise it seemed to be a fairly broad cross-section of looks and ages. Everyone seemed friendly, though, smiling and chatting casually with everyone else. Stacy realized she was standing still in thought when Melissa caught up with her, and interrupted her contemplation with, “So, shall we find some people to eat with?”

Melissa led her through the tables, and Stacy could see that there were several distinct areas in the large room. The front was very open, with a sort of dining hall style layout of tables, and a bright open decor to match. The middle/back section was more like a standard restaurant, with tables and booths, and a more subdued decorative theme. To the side, there were meeting room areas, with more private booths and tables, with part business and part quiet lounge themes. Most of the women were eating in the first two areas, and Melissa was wandering through, greeting various people with a cheerful smile. Eventually she settled on a table where three other women around Stacy’s age were sitting, and asked of they could join them.

“Of course,” said one of the women, “is this another prospective resident you’re showing around?”

“Yes,” replied Melissa, “this is Stacy.”

“Pleased to meet you, Stacy,” said the woman, “my name is Jane, and this is Susan and Sandy.”

Stacy and Melissa sat down, and before she knew it, Stacy was chatting with these new women as if she had known them forever, and had just been separated for a while. The topics varied widely, but before she knew it, she noticed that most of the other people had left the dining room, and it was well past sunset. Eventually there was a slight lull in the conversation, and Melissa pointed out that it was late, and they should let Stacy head home now, if she wanted to; they had already kept her longer than they intended, and they didn’t want to take up her whole evening.

“Unless,” said Jane, with a conspiratorial smile, “you’d like to join us for a night out. The girls and I were planning on hitting a favorite club tonight, and getting our dance on, have a few drinks, maybe meet a few guys... If you’d like to come, you’re welcome to join us... as long as it’s okay with Melissa,” she added.

Melissa held up her hands, “Don’t look at me, she’s an adult, and I’m not chaperoning her. If she wants to join you, it’s up to her,” and, she added to Stacy, “it won’t reflect on you at all either way for consideration for application to Manor House, just to make that clear. I think we have plenty of information to make that decision; if you want to have some fun with the girls here, it’s up to you.”

Stacy considered her alternative plans for that Friday night, which tentatively consisted of packing more belongings into boxes in preparation for her likely pending eviction, “Uh, sure, I’d love to go. But,” she added, after a moment’s consideration, “my car is here; what if I can’t drive home after we get back?”

“Oh, no worries,” said Sandy, cheerfully, “I have an empty bed in my room here at the house, and you’re welcome to crash there for the night. It’s not breaking any rules to have guests over, and as long as you don’t snore too loudly, it shouldn’t be a problem,” she added, with a smile.

“Great, it’s settled then,” said Jane, and then added with another conspiratorial look, “and I know just the person we can probably get to drive us there and back. Won’t that be interesting for the new girl,” she added, and shared a knowing look with the other women.

Stacy turned to Melissa for an explanation, and thought she caught a glimpse of an eye roll. “Oh, don’t look at me,” she said, “I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise. I’ll be available tomorrow morning if you end up crashing here; just call me when and I’ll show you around a bit more during the day time. Ladies,” she said, standing from the table, “have fun.”

“We will,” the girls said, more or less in unison, as Melissa walked away.

[sigmabody]

Chapter 4: After-Interview

Jane had to make a call to see if her mysterious chauffeur would be available, and all the girls wanted to change before going to the club, so Sandy volunteered to take Stacy back to her room with her to hang out while she did so. They walked back through the lobby of the building, to a set of elevators. “The main residence building is actually a lot like a hotel,” explained Sandy, as she pressed the button for the third floor, “there are some other meeting rooms on the lower level, and personal rooms on the upper levels.” From the buttons, Stacy could deduce that the building had five floors, at least which could be reached by the elevator.

They got out at the third floor, and walked through a series of well-lit hallways, passing by several other doors before getting to the one Sandy approached. Barely slowing down, she pressed her hand against a panel on the wall, and the door clicked unlocked as she opened it with her other hand. “Biometrics,” she said, which if Stacy remembered correctly meant reading fingerprints or something, “makes it super easy to get around here, and you don’t have to remember keys or anything. This door is programmed to the people who are living in the suite, but other doors in the common areas work for anyone staying here; it’s pretty cool.

Stacy nodded, and followed Sandy into the room. Inside, there was a kind of lobby area of a suite, with a bathroom and a couple bedroom doors. She followed Sandy into one of the bedrooms, where there was a large window overlooking an interior courtyard. “Make yourself at home,” said Stacy, going immediately to her closet, “I just need to change, and get ready, and we’ll be good to go; shouldn’t be more than twenty minutes or so. Bathroom’s over there, sorry about the mess, I wasn’t expecting people, yada yada.” She grabbed a few things, and headed towards the bathroom area; Stacy hardly noticed, though, because she was busy taking in the rest of the outside view.

The courtyard was not very well lit at night, but the pathways had some minimal lights, and that in combination with the moon gave the grounds a soft, serene look. She could see a large house on the left, which seemed to be actually connected to the main residence building she was in, although it was architecturally distinct (that is, it looked like a regular, albeit large, house, rather than a hotel building). There was also a large garden area just beyond the courtyard, and rolling hills with trees beyond that. Stacy could see someone jogging around the garden too, on what looked like a jogging path. “That’s cool,” she thought, a moment later, as she watched the jogger: there were lights on the path which were lighting up as she approached, and fading as she went by; it was like the lighting was moving with the jogger.

Stacy wasn’t sure how long she was standing there staring at the grounds, but eventually she finally decided to look around the room she was in. Sandy wasn’t kidding about the mess, although it was not really that much more cluttered than Stacy’s room at any given day, but her gaze was drawn to the closet Sandy had left open, where there was quite the collection of shoes, probably taking up a third of the closet space. Some were arranged neatly and some were strewn about, but almost all were high heels, and of those Stacy guessed all were at least four inches. “Makes sense,” she thought, “to live within the rules here, and still have a good variation.” Stacy briefly considered her own footwear, which she had been wearing for the last few hours, “Good thing I picked shoes I’ve actually walked for a whole shift in; it looks like I might be wearing them all night tonight.” The rest of the room was fairly simple: two beds, end tables, a couple dressers and closets, and that was about it.

Feeling a little like she was intruding on Sandy’s personal space, Stacy went back to the lounge area, where there was a large couch she could relax on. Manor House still felt a little surreal, but everything she had seen was matching up with what she had been told: there was indeed a large estate, with obviously high-tech security, and women did live here, obviously abiding by the rules to do so. She could hear Sandy getting ready in the bathroom, which reminded her of the question she had planned on asked some of the girls, before she was absorbed in the dinner conversations.

“So,” said Stacy, “if you don’t mind me asking, what do you do for work? I saw you had quite a few nice pairs of shoes...”

“Oh, yeah,” said Sandy from the bathroom, “actually, I work as a substitute teacher, part time. During the week I wouldn’t be able to go out like tonight, because you never know if you’re going to be called in the next day, and have to be up bright and early, but since today is Friday, I can go out. I also do some writing when I’m not doing teaching; I’d like to get published at some point, or maybe get a screen play purchased, but in the meantime, teaching pays well enough to afford everything I want, and save a little money too. Of course, it helps that living here is pretty cheap, especially compared to how nice it is.”

“I actually went to school for creative writing, and that’s what I wanted to do,” she continued, “but it’s hard to get a break in the writing business, and teaching was an easy fallback. That’s also where I heard about Manor House, from one of my sorority sisters at the university. It turned out that a few of them were living here while the went to school, and after I took a visit, I was hooked. It sure beat the hell out of spending all the money I made on my part time job on campus to live in a crappy one bedroom with a roommate while going to school. When I graduated, I just kept living here while I looked for work, and here I am today. Heck, I’ll probably stay here as long as they let me, or at least until I want to get married or something; this place is great.”

“That’s what happened to my last room mate, by the way; she just moved out about a month ago. I don’t know if anyone has mentioned this, but they assign you rooms here, and usually you have a roommate. If I remember right, the people running the organization felt it was important for the residents here to socialize with each other, and making sure people had roommates was part of that. It also makes it sorta inconvenient to have a long-term relationship while living here; it’s possible, of course, but there are usually some uncomfortable nights. That’s the main reason people move out, at least of the people I know: you find the right guy, and you want to be able to have more alone time, if you know what I mean.”

“But I’m rambling again, aren’t I; sorry. I forgot your question, did I answer it okay?”

“Perfectly fine,” said Stacy, “and it’s no problem at all; I was actually wondering about dating life living here too. It’s nice to know that it’s possible, at least, and not restricted by the rules or anything.”

“Nope,” said Sandy, emerging from the bathroom on the way to the bedroom, “I think the rules here are pretty relaxed, but then again I’m used to running a classroom.” Sandy had changed her clothes, and done her makeup, and looked nearly ready for a night out on the town. She moved into her room, and emerged a moment later with some long black boots to match her short black skirt, fishnets, and top which showed off the kind of stomach you had to work hard to preserve. She sat next to Stacy, and began the process of lacing up the boots, which Stacy could see were knee height, and had around six inch heels. It was about as far away from the image Stacy had of a conservative school teacher as she could imagine.

“So,” said Stacy after a moment, as she found herself staring at Sandy’s boots, “are you actually planning on doing any dancing tonight, or just mainly sitting in those?”

Sandy laughed, as she continued to lace up her boots, “Oh, I plan to do some dancing, for sure. One of the benefits of wearing heels around all day here is you kinda just get used to it, to the point where you’re doing most of the stuff you would normally do anyway. Also, these are actually easier to dance in that open shoes like those,” she said, gesturing toward Stacy’s shoes, “because of the ankle support. Not that I couldn’t dance in shoes like those too, though,” she added with a smile, “and I’m sure I have. I think you’ll find most of the women here are pretty comfortable in heels, at least after living here for a few months.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” acknowledged Stacy, wondering how she would be after a few months at Manor House. On the one hand, she had worn shoes as high as the boots Sandy was lacing on for the evening; her current shoes were probably just as high, actually. On the other hand, the thought of going out dancing in them without backup flats was daunting, to say the least, but at the same time she found the thought of being able to do so strangely a little exhilarating. “I’d have men lined up to buy me drinks,” she mused, “like a supermodel, or a movie star...”

A few moments later, Sandy brought her out of her daydream of being a movie starlet, going out every night in fabulously sexy outfits and partying the nights away. “Okay,” she announced, “I’m ready, let me give Jane a call and see if we have a ride, or if we need to scrounge up cab fare.”

Sandy got on her phone, and it was obvious even from the one-sided conversation that the ride was, in fact, going to be available. “...okay,” she said, after a moment’s conversion, “we’ll be down in about fifteen. See you then.”

“So, we have about ten minutes to kill,” she said, “anything else you want to know, or see? Or, wait, I’m being silly... did you need to freshen up or anything while we’re here? I wasn’t even thinking about that.”

It turns out Stacy hadn’t been thinking about that either, and once Sandy mentioned it, it sounded like a really good idea. So the two women spent the next ten minutes mostly in the bathroom, with Sandy helping Stacy go from “interview conservative” to something more appropriate for a Friday night out in Hollywood (although Stacy was careful not to go too over-the-top into trashy). Once they had deemed Stacy “ready”, almost fifteen minutes had gone by, and they hurried out of the room to meet the other girls, and catch their ride.

Their ride, in this case, turned out to be a large SUV which was parked in front of the main building, which they could see from the lobby areas where Stacy and Sandy met up with the other girls. They, too, had apparently been changing and preparing for a night on the town, and looked equally stunning. Jane was wearing a skin-tight deep red mini-dress with matching five inch Mary Jane pumps; Susan had a slightly more conservative black dress, offset with distinctly less conservative six inch ankle boots with decorative locks attached to the sides at the ankles, which jingled slightly as she walked (at least, Stacy assumed they were decorative). They took a moment to gush over each other’s choice of outfits and accessories, and then headed outside.

There, a couple awaited them. The man appeared to be in his forties, tall, and reasonably fit; not unattractive, Stacy decided, but way too old for me. He introduced himself as Bret, and seemed to have a easy-going charm about him. The woman appeared to be in her early thirties, but really could have been anywhere between twenty and fifty; it was hard for Stacy to judge from her appearance. She introduced herself as Margaret, and Stacy could tell that she was a bit less easy going, and more business-like, although still relaxed and friendly. They were both dressed to go out, although neither were as “dressed up” as the girls: Bret had a casual suit which fit him well, and Margaret had black pants and a conservative top which looked classy, but didn’t do much to show off her figure. Stacy also noticed that Margaret was wearing high heeled boots as well, although certainly not showing them off with the pant legs which almost came to the ground, covering most of her shoes.

“Bret is good for rides to the clubs, when he’s not otherwise occupied and stuff,” offered Jane, as the girls helped each other into the back seats of the SUV, “and Margaret comes along to make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble.”

“They just like calling me because I can get private rooms at a few clubs,” said Bret, as he settled into the front seat and started the car, “and I certainly enjoy the company, and of course the gorgeous scenery.” The girls laughed, and thanked him for the ride. Stacy glanced to Margaret at the remark, expected to see perhaps a glare, but instead caught what looked like an eye roll; “I guess she’s okay with his flirtation,” she thought, “not sure I would be, but whatever works for them.”

They drove out the long driveway from Manor House, and out the main gate, which opened automatically as the vehicle approached. Getting back to the main road, they drove down the hill and into the city, eventually ending up at one of the more upscale and seemingly popular clubs in the area. The name didn’t ring a bell for Stacy, but Jane said it was more of an under-the-radar hang out, so it didn’t get much publicity, but celebrities still occasionally frequented it, when they more wanted to just relax than play to the cameras. Bret pulled the SUV up to the valet station, then came around to help the ladies out.

True to his word, Bret apparently had an “in” at this club, and the group ignored the small line of people waiting in front, and entered directly through a side entrance. Of course, dressed as they were and with the female to male ratio in the group, and knowing how clubs normally operate, Stacy figured they almost certainly could have easily breezed in through the front-door as well, but there was something indulgent about being waved in through the VIP entrance. The indulgence didn’t stop there either, as a host was waiting for them inside, and directed “sir” Bret and his entourage to a semi-private VIP booth, with a bottle of champagne waiting on ice. The booth offered a view of the entire dance floor from above, and the party was already in full swing. “Oh, I could get used to this,” though Stacy, “I can definitely see why Jane wanted a ride from this guy.”

“Champagne?” asked Bret, grabbing the bottle, “I ordered ahead.” He popped the cork, and started pouring glasses. “You can leave whatever you want here; we have the booth until we leave, and security here is pretty good. I’ll be here when I’m not out on the floor, so if you want a break from dancing, I’ll do what I can to provide entertaining conversation. But for now, a toast to a great night out!” Glasses were raised, drinks were downed, and the girls headed out to the dance floor, leaving Bret and Margaret with their purses at the booth.

Stacy didn’t know how long she danced for, but it felt great. The DJ was good, the atmosphere was great, she’d had a few drinks and flirted with more than a few hot guys; she’d even danced a bit with Bret, when he briefly joined them on the dance floor. She wanted to just keep going all night, but eventually her feet just could not take it any more, their complaints were getting strong enough to go through the alcohol-encouraged euphoria, and Stacy needed to head back to the booth. She excused herself from the other girls (none of whom seemed tired yet), and made her way back up to the VIP section.

It felt so good to relax on the cushioned booth seat, Stacy thought, and just sit for a few. The music was also more subdued in the VIP booth, she noticed, so conversation was much easier than the shouting matches necessary to convey any information on the main floor. Bret was in the booth, just watching people on the dance floor, but Margaret was nowhere to be seen.

“Good times?” asked Bret, “Margaret decided to get in on some of the dancing, so I’ve just been hanging out. How do you like this place?”

“It’s great,” said Stacy, “but I just needed to sit for a bit. I’m not used to being in these shoes, especially with all the dancing, clearly my clubbing endurance is lacking,” she added, with a relaxed smile. Some part of her mind was also aware that her drinking endurance was also lacking, and so with it some of her conversational filters, but the overwhelming majority of her mind just didn’t care.

“Well, here,” offered Bret, “there aren’t any stools, but you’re welcome to put your feet up on my legs, if you like.”

“Well, if you’re offering...” said Stacy, and swung her legs up to rest on Bret’s thighs. “Ahhh...” she exhaled, and leaned back into the plush seat, “that feels great.” A few moments later she felt Bret’s hands on her legs, gently rubbing her calves, and that felt great too. She leaned back and closed her eyes, listening to the music, and enjoying the feeling, and murmured, “yeah, really good times.”

She must have been lying there for a few minutes before the next thought made its way through the pleasant combination of the alcohol, the really comfortable seat, and Bret’s continued casual rubbing of her lower legs. “Now, don’t take this the wrong way, and certainly don’t stop what you’re doing,” she said, raising her head from the seat-back just enough to make eye contact, “but won’t your... girlfriend get upset if she comes back here to this?” She realized she didn’t know what Bret an Margaret’s relationship actually was mid-question, so she went with girlfriend, with a somewhat uncertain emphasis.

Bret smiled, “Well, that would be an entirely appropriate response, I suppose, if I had a girlfriend. Margaret isn’t my girlfriend, though, she’s just a friend who sometimes accompanies me when I go out, to make sure I don’t get into any trouble. If I had an exclusive significant other, I would be worried about fostering feelings of jealously when I’m around other beautiful women, especially if I am friendly towards them, and since I enjoy doing both of those things, I choose to remain resolutely single. Of course,” he added with another smile, “I have been known to fool around from time to time, but only if it’s clear there are no expectations for commitments. I prefer it that way.”

“I’ll bet you do,” murmured Stacy, but in a playful sort of way, leaning her head back on the seat. “As long as you keep rubbing, though, I won’t pass judgement.”

“Deal,” said Bret, and Stacy did her best to once again melt into the cushions.

She must have sat there for a good twenty minutes; the combination of a hard song transition and her buzz wearing off eventually jolted her up again, and she decided she didn’t want to miss the rest of the time in the club just relaxing in the booth (as tempting as that sounded). Instead, she decided to drag Bret to the dance floor for a song, and after some prodding, he joined her. Truth be told, he wasn’t much of a dancer, but seemed to have a good time, and they found the other girls toward the end of the song, still mingling on the dance floor.

The group ended up staying at that single club for the rest of the evening, and well into the morning, leaving just before closing near 2am. Stacy danced with the other girls for most of the rest of the time, and let the drinks work to ignore any discomfort she felt. By the time they went home, Sandy was making sure she drank lots of water, but the rest of the evening was a blur of individual memories and impressions, rather than a coherent whole. She did remember getting helped back into the car, which Bret drove back to Manor House, and leaning on Sandy quite a bit on the way back to her room. She remembered having to use the bathroom right when she got back to the room, being helped into bed, and at least getting her dress off before falling asleep. And the next morning, she recollected on having the best night out she could almost entirely remember.

[sigmabody]

Chapter 5: Orientation, On-Site

Thankfully, Stacy awoke the next morning without too much of a hangover; it was light outside when she rolled over, and she didn’t feel the overwhelming urge to crawl back into a dark spot. That wasn’t to say that she felt great, but she’d certainly had worse mornings, and the fact that she wasn’t running to the bathroom or sleeping in vomit was a testament to the kindness of Sandy, making sure she drank enough water after the other beverages she consumed last night. There was even a robe waiting next to the bed, which Stacy availed herself of on the way to the bathroom. It wasn’t even until she was coming back out that she noticed Sandy, already up, sitting on the couch with a laptop on her lap.

“Well, good morning,” said Sandy, pausing from whatever she had been doing on the computer, “sleep well?”

“Uh... more or less,” replied Stacy, still somewhat in a haze, “you?”

“Oh, pretty good, but I don’t think I had quite as many drinks as you did,” Sandy said with a smile, “you seemed pretty out of it. You’d need to be a little more careful if you end up living here; there is a rule about excessive drinking, you know. Although, they are pretty liberal about that; as long as you’re not partying it up disturbing others, or puking all over, it’s generally fine. Besides, everybody likes to let loose once in a while, right?”

“It was a great time,” Stacy said, “even with the morning after included.”

“Good to hear,” said Sandy, “I texted Melissa while you were in the bathroom, to let her know you were up and about; she did want to see you today, I think, and maybe take you around the facilities. No rush, though: feel free to shower if you want, or just kick back, you do still look a little exhausted.”

“Yeah,” said Stacy, settling into a side chair in the lounge, “I really didn’t mean to drink that much, but I wanted to keep dancing, and my feet were killing me in the heels. Rather than just sit in the booth all night, I decided to have a few more drinks than I would have normally, just so I could stay out on the floor. Did you even take any breaks?”

“Yeah, but mainly just to talk with Bret and stuff,” said Sandy, “I could probably have gone all night, if the club didn’t close,” she added, extending her legs out from the couch and wiggling her feet, “these babies have been well trained.” Then a smile spread over her face, “Heck, I wouldn’t be surprised if Susan did go all night in her shoes, in a manner of speaking; she met a guy before we left, and was going to go home with him, and I think she might have left her keys back here. She’s kinda kinky like that, sometimes; I think she does it to compensate for being conservative the rest of the time. Good for her, though.”

“Wait,” said Stacy, still processing the information, “you mean the locks on her boots weren’t decorative, they were actually holding them on? Like she couldn’t take them off?”

“Oh, don’t look so shocked,” said Sandy, with a grin, “it’s not like we all don’t do crazy things from time to time, and that’s not even all that crazy. I’ve done worse... but nothing I’m going to tell you about, at least not without a lot of drinks. Anyway, I’m sure Susan is fine; I don’t have any desperate texts from her, so it’s probably all good.”

“I guess so...” said Stacy, although she wasn’t entirely convinced, “anything else I missed last night? Did Jane make out with Margaret or anything?”

Sandy laughed, and Stacy, after a moment, laughed too. She decided that, although going to a club with your shoes locked on and the key at home was a little strange, in the scope of all the crazy things people could do on nights out in pursuit of a good time, it really wasn’t that dangerous. She also realized that she really could use a shower, and decided to take Sandy up on her offer. The shower, it turned out, felt really nice, and Stacy observed that all the fixtures in the bathroom were really high quality, more like a luxury hotel than a dormitory. “I could definitely get used to this,” she thought, wrapping herself back in the bathrobe, which felt extra soft and luxurious after the shower.

“Melissa will be over in a few,” Sandy announced when Stacy eventually emerged from the bathroom, “so you should get dressed. I put your clothes by the bed last night.”

Stacy made her way back to the bedroom, and observed that her dress was indeed sitting by the bed, along with her shoes from last night. She dressed, and, not really having any other options, eased her feet into her shoes again. They felt distinctly less comfortable than before she had gone dancing in them for several hours, but she was glad she had gone with this pair instead of one of the higher platforms she owned; at least with these, she could still walk the next day. Hopefully Melissa didn’t have a lot of walking in mind for the tour though, she thought, or there might need to be some sitting breaks.

She had just walked back out into the lounge when there was a ring of a doorbell, and a small monitor next to the entrance door lit up, showing Melissa outside. Sandy got the door, and invited Melissa in.

“Hi, hi,” said Melissa, as she embraced Sandy, then looked over to Stacy, “I heard you had a kinda rough night last night... or should I say fun?”

“Oh, loads on fun,” said Stacy, also giving Melissa a friendly hug, “although my body might beg to differ.” Melissa was dressed much more casually than the last time Stacy saw her: she had a pair of short hip-hugging shorts, a short-sleeve shirt which was tied up casually to show off her toned and tanned midriff, and her hair was down, giving her a sort of college athlete relaxing look. The look was complemented by her tan t-strap sandal-style heels, which were around five inches, but with a blocky heel. Compared to the other shoes Stacy had seen around Manor House in the last twenty-four hours, though, they looked downright relaxing, and Stacy felt a tinge of shoe-envy.

“Before we take off,” said Melissa, “I have something to tell you. I talked to the other resident committee members this morning, and we agreed that you seem like the sort of person we would be delighted to have staying here. So, we’re extending you an offer to stay at Manor House, if you wish.”

“Oh, congratulations,” blurted out Sandy, giving Stacy a big hug, “that’s great!”

“She hasn’t accepted anything yet,” said Melissa with a smile, “so don’t start planning a party or anything. As for all residents, the first three months are the trial period, where you are adjusting to the rules and accidental infractions can be overlooked, and the other residents can weigh in on if you really fit in here. After that, though, if you’re still here, you’re officially part of the family, so to speak, and you can stay as long as you want.”

Stacy had to take a moment to take it all in. Sandy was very giddy, and Melissa was smiling; she felt like she had just rushed a sorority or something in the last twelve hours. “It’s all a little sudden,” she said, “it’s great, but I need to think about all this.”

“Of course,” said Melissa, “no need to make a decision on the spot, I just wanted to break the good news. Mr. Song, in particular, thought you seemed like a good fit, and his word does carry considerable weight in deciding who can stay at his house, as you might guess.”

“That’s great,” said Stacy, still processing the information, “but I didn’t even meet Mr. Song, how can he have an opinion on me?”

Melissa glanced over to Sandy, with a look which seemed like a combination of surprise and playful scorn, “You didn’t tell her, did you?”

“Well, I certainly didn’t,” said Sandy, still with a giant grin on her face, “and apparently he played it cool too. Or maybe he told her, and she forgot. Either way, that’s pretty awesome.”

“Okay,” said Stacy, glancing back and forth between the two women, both of whom were still smiling, “somebody want to tell me what you too obviously already know?”

“Well, since Sandy didn’t,” said Melissa, with a playful half-glare her way, “I guess I can fill you in. Your ‘ride’ from last night was Bret Song, the owner of Manor House.” Turning to Sandy, “Did Margaret go with you too?”

“Yes,” said Sandy, obviously enjoying Stacy’s dumbfounded reaction.

“Margaret is Mr. Song’s assistant, who sometimes also accompanies him on after-hours outings.” Stacy was still in shock, desperately trying to remember what exactly she had said and done last night. “Mr. Song likes to go out sometimes with residents, for fun, and they like inviting him because he gets VIP perks at most of the clubs, and he’s actually pretty fun to hang out with. Oh, and he doesn’t drink much, which means he can be the designated driver. I asked him once why he didn’t just rent a limo, but he said he liked driving himself most days; must be a guy thing or something. Anyway, you have met him, and he liked you, and that is that.”

“Uh... yeah, okay...” stammered out Stacy, her mind still playing catch up. Somehow she had pictured Mr. Song as a much older man, living a secluded life in his mansion, only emerging for doctor visits and charity events, with someone to wheel him around. Bret seemed young and active, even though he was obviously somewhat older, and had just been out with four twenty-something girls (and his assistant) till well past 2am. It was a lot to take in.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” prodded Melissa, “let’s go get some breakfast, and then we’ll tour the grounds, or at least the highlights. You’re welcome to join us if you want, Sandy.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Sandy, “just give me a second to put shoes on.” She disappeared into her room, and reappeared a moment later wearing tan wedge heels which (unsurprisingly to Stacy) were also around five inches high. “Okay, good to go.”

They went down to breakfast together, which was not very crowded, but it was delicious. Afterwards, Sandy excused herself, and Melissa took Stacy through the grounds: there was quite a lot to see. They went by the full gym, huge pool, and various athletic facilities, and did a quick walk through part of the gardens. Along the way, Melissa pointed out the various high-tech features of the facility, as well as some lower-tech attention to detail, such as the fact that all the walkways were designed to be easily walkable in heels, meaning there were no unstable or uneven surfaces along the walking areas, and you could literally walk almost everywhere on the grounds in stilettos. Stacy was sure she would have appreciated that fact more, if she had not already walked probably close to a mile that morning: the Manor House grounds were huge, and Melissa was eager to point out all the great things which were there. Eventually, though, they made their way back to the main residence, where Stacy was thrilled to collapse onto one of the comfortable chairs in the lobby.

“Well, that concludes the tour,” said Melissa, “what did you think?”

“This place is huge,” blurted out Stacy, you need a shuttle to get from one end to the other.”

“Oh, it just feels larger because there aren’t as many people out and about on a Saturday morning. Normally, when there are more people walking around, it doesn’t feel so large. Though,” she added, “I’ve never felt cramped here, so there is plenty of space for everyone.”

Stacy reflected on that for a moment: they had, in fact, not seen many women around while walking around. Of the ones they did see, most were engaged in various sorts of morning exercise routines, either using the facilities or just out walking. The ones that were walking were in heels, of course; Stacy wondered if that might have just been another exercise program, though, in fitting with the rules for the house. Whatever the case, the grounds were gorgeous, and Stacy couldn’t help but imagine herself living there, engaging in the various activities.

“So,” said Melissa, rising, “I’ll take you to your car now. You can let me know your decision whenever you want, although we ask that you decide something within a week or two, so we can make arrangements. We don’t offer relocation assistance, but the facilities are fully furnished, so you would just need to bring clothing and personal effects. That’s pretty much it; we’ll just wait to hear from you.”

“Thank you,” said Stacy, following Melissa out the front of the building and toward the parking structure, “it’s a big decision, and I’ll probably want to sleep on it... but just in case I don’t,” she added with a smile, “be sure to check your messages today.”

[sigmabody]

Chapter 6: Epilogue

Stacy had, in fact, taken up the offer that day, and was moved in by the next Monday. She worked out a deal with her landlord to take her furniture and kitchen stuff in exchange for refunding Stacy her entire security deposit; Stacy figured she might be able to make a bit more money selling everything, but just wanted to leave the whole place behind, and have a little spending money for her new living situation. She had even remembered to write a check for 30% of the refunded money to Manor House, which she gave to Melissa the day she received the refund from her landlord. It did seem a pretty small price to pay for her new place.

As for her room, she was assigned a room with Sandy, which suited both of them just fine. Sandy apologized for deceiving her about Bret, but said it was more Jane’s idea, and Mr. Song just went along with it; Stacy forgave her, and they became good friends. Stacy also had some luck landing a few acting roles in the next couple of months: it turned out a few of the girls at Manor House had connections in the industry, and could at least get her foot in a few doors. Stacy also found that a connection to Manor House actually had some weight in several potential employment circles: apparently Manor House had a reputation for housing women who worked hard, were friendly, and stayed clean, and these qualities were not all that common in the acting space. As a result, Stacy found herself landing a few gigs, and getting referrals. She still hadn’t made it big, but she was making enough to expand her wardrobe quite a bit while also starting to save money, which was a huge step.

She’d also made a lot more friends, both on her own and through Sandy and her friends. Between meals, classes on the facilities, and just running into people, she felt like she personally knew most of the women at Manor House. There were actually a pretty wide range of classes offered, from aerobics to dancing to vocational training, and Stacy made it a point to take as many as she could. She even saw Bret from time to time attending classes, and socialized whenever the opportunity arose.

Speaking of Mr. Song, he had gone clubbing with them a few more times in the several months that Stacy had lived at Manor House, both with Sandy and company, and with other girls. Somehow, on each occasion, Stacy found the time to arrange some down-time alone in the booth with Bret, and solicit leg rubs, which he was happy to oblige with. Not that she needed them as much, though; she found that after a month, like the other girls, she had no problem going all evening in her shoes dancing the night away. She did, though, still like to spend some private time with Bret, and he seemed to enjoy her company.

The first couple of weeks were pretty tough on her feet, of course, but after that it sorta became second nature, her body adjusted, and she didn’t really even think much about wearing heels all day any more. She’d even borrowed Susan’s locking boots one night, after she realized they wore the same size shoes, and tried going out in them (with the keys in her purse, of course). Sandy was right: they weren’t that hard to wear all night after living in Manor House for a while, and they were a heck of a conversation starter, she just didn’t get much out of doing it herself. She politely declined Susan’s offer to hold the keys next time she borrowed them, but had held the keys for the locks when Susan had worn them out the next time, with the instruction to only give them to the man Susan went home with, if that situation arose again; Stacy never did find out if she wore them all night, as Susan refused to, as she put it, “knock boots and tell.”

It turned out, also, that Mr. Song hosted business events at his house from time to time, and during the events there were lots of random people around, all presumably high-powered executives or other influential people. Many were married, but the few that weren’t (and a few that were) spent more than a little attention on the residents of the house, who were invited to socialize with them during the non-meeting times at their own discretion. Nothing serious ever came of the meeting for Stacy (yet, anyway), but she knew of a couple of women who had started relationships as a result, and had moved on from Manor House to move in with their new men. They were always welcome to return, of course, if the relationships didn’t work out, but Stacy always hoped for the girls’ sakes that they would.

She also figured out, after some candid conversations and experimentation, that Manor House was also known in certain social circles, with positive benefits. It turns out producers and casting directors were not the only people interested in women who were fit, friendly, clean and sober, generally attractive and generally personable. Add in the whole “wearing gratuitously high heels comfortably” thing, which seemed to usually appeal to most men and specific men in particular more so, and you had a recipe for instant-interest from many men (and some women) who were “in the know.” Stacy also hadn’t yet found Mr. Right through this venue, but she knew of a few ex-residents who had, and also wished them well in their relationships.

The reputation was not without risks, though, as Stacy also was made aware. The reason there was a separate legal organization running the residency program was primarily for liability: Mr. Song was very cautious (on the advice of his legal team) about exposing himself to personal liability. Along the same lines, early-on Melissa confided that there was a small but constant fear among the people running the organization that at some point, there would be negative press about Manor House (perhaps a feminist outcry, or something), and if the fervor got loud enough, Mr. Song would need to terminate the program, and evict all the residents. The worry among the residents was low, but still, there was an unspoken rule to be careful who you talked to about Manor House, lest it draw too much unwanted attention, and all the residents were aware of it. It wasn’t something Stacy really thought about much, but it did go a long way to explaining why Manor House was not more widely known about, in general.

Stacy met many interesting residents at Manor House, each with their own particular circumstances and story to tell. Stacy was particularly struck by one, an older woman, probably in her fifties, who she recognized as a successful and fairly well-known writer of adult fiction. Stacy knew she must have plenty of money through her writing, and inquired as to why she chose to continue living at Manor House, even when she could afford to live wherever and however she wanted. “Look around,” she remembered the woman had told her, with a knowing smile, “sure, maybe I could buy all this for myself somewhere else, but all I’d get is a lot of personal hassle and stress, and I’d lose interacting with all the great people here. Why would I want to do that? I don’t have kids, and I’m divorced and not looking to get re-married; I see no reason to want to leave. Sure, I have plenty of money saved up for when I can’t stay here any longer, but until that time, put yourself in my shoes: why would I ever want to leave?” It was an interesting perspective, Stacy thought, and one which she found herself coming back to reflect on from time to time.

Stacy even found the time, about a year after she first came to Manor House, to pay a visit to her old haunt, the club where she had worked upon coming to LA originally. She was intending just to observe for nostalgia, but a couple of the girls she knew were even still working there, and they took her back stage to catch up. At first they fawned on how grown up and successful Stacy looked; she hadn’t really noticed any change in herself, but upon reflection, her look was much more adult and sophisticated than when she had worked there, from her designer stilettos to the matching outfit. Despite the clothes, though, she quickly reverted to her old self around the other girls, and ended up talking with them for hours between shifts, mainly about the life there, her acting and tips to break into it, that sort of thing. Towards the end of the night, one of the younger girls who Stacy didn’t know took her aside, and confided that she was feeling a little pressured to indulge customers “other” needs so that she could continue to make rent, and stay in LA, and wondered if Stacy had ever been in that situation, and/or had any advice. Stacy looked her over, young and uncertain as she was, drew her in close, and said, “Let me ask you something... have you ever heard of Manor House?”

The End

[Puffer]

I read your disclaimer - but I'm not going to wade through a story (however interesting) that totally lacks paragraphing. Surely you can manage to do that simple bit of formatting yourself?

[nyenor]

Sorry Puffer but I do not see your problem. To me at least, the story has paragraphs even though they are not indented and are rather long. To the author, I enjoyed the story very much. Pity there are not more of the same written and posted.

[Puffer]

Sorry Puffer but I do not see your problem. To me at least, the story has paragraphs even though they are not indented and are rather long. To the author, I enjoyed the story very much. Pity there are not more of the same written and posted.

Yes, the paras are there but the lack of indenting and the typeface/font size makes it much more difficult to keep on track when reading and scrolling down.

Good material can be so easily spoiled by hasty or slapdash presentation. This is far from being the only piece where a little extra effort on presentation would pay dividends. After all, it took long enough to write - so a few extra minutes spent on tidying-up is well worthwhile.

[Dr. Shoe]

To be honest, it was a bit of a "wade'...

[Tacchi Alti]

I read your disclaimer - but I'm not going to wade through a story (however interesting) that totally lacks paragraphing. Surely you can manage to do that simple bit of formatting yourself?

When you contribute a story we'll be able to see how it's all supposed to be done.

Come on, this is a forum with very little formatting possible, so don't you think it would be more helpful to make constructive criticism about the story rather than disparaging remarks about the layout? You could even offer to format it for him if you felt that strongly about it, and show us how indenting is done here. I've seen far worse so-called professional writing. This is far more literate than most stories here, with mainly very good spelling, grammar, punctuation and vocabulary.

Perhaps you could explain to us the grammar and hyphenation of this phrase in your message: 'so a few extra minutes spent on tidying-up is well worthwhile.'

[Puffer]

Tacchi

[Puffer]

[Please ignore my last incomplete post above - I pressed wrong key!]

Tacchi Alti:

I am suggesting nothing more than proper paragraphing, with separation between them (as in your message and mine). Without that basic element of good presentation, a long piece of text can be almost unreadable, given the need to scroll down without losing one's place. That is true of any message on this forum or elsewhere, but particularly of a story as, by its nature, it is likely to be lengthy.

I agree that indentation is not easy to add in this forum and gives little extra benefit. However, adding white space (i.e. a 'vacant line' between paragraphs of a sensible length) is the key to keeping the reader's eye firmly on the text. That is all that is really needed, although using a small font is not ideal, especially for those readers whose eyesight is not perfect.

I make no criticism of the writer's literacy; my only concern was the formatting obstacle he put in the way of those who would like to do his story justice. Would you be impressed by someone engaging in any form of public speaking whose delivery was so poor (e.g. mumbling, or having a strong accent) that it made his apparently interesting material hard to comprehend? I think not, and the parallel is pretty obvious. (And my professional life has involved a good deal of speaking, writing and editing so my comments come from experience, some of it hard-earned and bitter!)

I am not sure what it is that you wish me to say regarding the phrase which you quote. If you are implying that 'well worthwhile' should also be hyphenated, you are welcome to that opinion; my view is that it would only be hyphenated if used adjectivally. By contrast, 'tidying-up' is a compound noun, so is generally hyphenated. Am I missing something else that bugs you - do please enlighten me?

[Tacchi Alti]

I just thought you came down a bit hard on him, and you may notice that, while he is not the most prolific of contributors, he has made only one post since May although he logs on fairly regularly. I hope he hasn't been put off. White space is, of course, very valuable to make text more readable, but in books this is done not by putting a blank line between paragraphs but by adjusting the overall layout. The typeface size is also something easily adjustable at this stage. However, my feeling is that while such considerations are important for professional publishing, about which I have a fair bit of experience, it is a bit cruel to berate a contributor to this forum for his presentation. You could have toned down your message or even sent him a private message if you felt that strongly about it. Regarding the phrase I quoted, 'well worthwhile' is correct, 'tidying-up' is debatable, but 'is' with a plural noun (minutes) is unforgivable when you're criticising someone else's composition! Anyway, I've now aired my opinion from the comfort and safety of my computer chair, and I 'ope I ain't made two many missteaks in me Inglish. Let's lay this to rest. Have a nice day, and enjoy your heels.

[Puffer]

I just thought you came down a bit hard on him ...

I will leave the members in general to decide whether my simple suggestion of some white space - just involving periodic use of the 'return' key - in order to present the text in a less cluttered and more readable manner was as harsh as is your overall reaction to my comments.

My comment was public rather than private because this presentational fault is not uncommon and I hoped that others might respond to my plea. Similar comments have been made previously by others about writing style.

... Regarding the phrase I quoted, '... 'is' with a plural noun (minutes) is unforgivable when you're criticising someone else's composition! ...

Sorry, but I don't agree: The true subject is a discrete period of time (understood, and singular); it is that that I suggest 'is well worthwhile'. Or, to paraphrase: 'the time [of a few extra minutes] spent on tidying-up is well worthwhile'. Alternatively, I could have said, for example: 'If a few extra minutes are spent on tidying-up, the result is well worthwhile.'.

I will try not to look down from my ivory tower as you endeavour to find comfort in your armchair below!

[Tacchi Alti]

Your paraphrases are fine, but in the second one you could equally apply your theory of a discrete period of time making the verb singular... Don't tell the anti-hunting brigade about your ivory tower.

[sigmabody]

Just noticed someone commented on my story, lol... Honestly, I totally agree that it could use a lot better presentation; I copied it in from an external source with formatting intact, but the forum ate it. I was hoping a mod could just clean it up automagically with some style application (the paragraphs are still intact); that's mainly why I didn't do it myself. Since there didn't seem much interest anyway after it was posted, I didn't bother to do any further editing... I wrote the story primarily for my own edification anyway, and to practice my writing for another unrelated writing project I subsequently worked on. My apologies to those who enjoyed it, but who's enjoyment was imparied by the formatting; I'm not sure I'll ever spend the time fixing it, but the fact that some people did read it might inspire me one night.

[lorriette]

The same happened to me sometime past. I was actually typing in the story as I thought it out, and admit that when done, couldn't find the effort to revise and edit. I liked it, so don't be put off another effort, after all, it's not a punishable offence!

[Puffer]

Just noticed someone commented on my story, lol...

Honestly, I totally agree that it could use a lot better presentation; I copied it in from an external source with formatting intact, but the forum ate it. I was hoping a mod could just clean it up automagically with some style application (the paragraphs are still intact); that's mainly why I didn't do it myself. Since there didn't seem much interest anyway after it was posted, I didn't bother to do any further editing... I wrote the story primarily for my own edification anyway, and to practice my writing for another unrelated writing project I subsequently worked on.

My apologies to those who enjoyed it, but who's enjoyment was imparied by the formatting; I'm not sure I'll ever spend the time fixing it, but the fact that some people did read it might inspire me one night.

Thank you for your gracious remarks, sigmabody, and for not taking offence at my original criticism of your lack of formatting. As I think you realise, that was not a criticism of your story or efforts in writing it.

As an exercise, I copied and pasted the whole of the story into a Word document and then just added one-line breaks after each paragraph. That makes the whole thing so much easier to read - especially given that the reader has to scroll down some 19 pages of text. (And that is without increasing the font size - a change to a larger serifed typeface - say 12pt Times, as here - gives further improvement in readability!).

That simple task took me ten minutes - but that is an awful lot of time wasted in total if every reader had to do what could have been done at the outset by the writer! And, by the way, it is perfectly possible to preserve the line breaks and spaces by cutting and pasting into a message here - although I guess that more complex formatting would be lost, as you suggest.

I did read the story through and enjoyed it; thanks for that. Let's see some more!

[sigmabody]

Unfortunately, in the original document I was using paragraph indentation instead of spacing (incidentally, this is what you would do if you were formatting something for conversion of a kindle document), which is why it did not have extra line-breaks. Initially it appeared as if the forum would preserve that formatting, but on post it disappeared, hence the unfortunate "block of text". Also, unfortunately, it does not appear that I can go back and edit the posts now for whatever reason, so unless someone reposts the story edited, it will stay a block of text. On the other hand, if you'd care to post your edited version, either as replies or a new thread, I'd be not at all opposed; as I said, my lack of formatting was due to uncertainty of interest, primarily. I'm glad you enjoyed it, even with the impediment; as I have future well-formed mental daliances, I'll be more encouraged to share them (perhaps even more legibly).

[Puffer]

... if you'd care to post your edited version, either as replies or a new thread, I'd be not at all opposed ...

I do still have the 'conversion' saved and could post it here as you suggest. I assume you would want me to retain the original chapter divisions?

Before I attempt this, I think the moderators ought to confirm whether the repetition is OK - how about it? And, as the whole text is so lengthy, is there a limit on the amount that can be posted as a single message?

[Tacchi Alti]

You (the author) can modify a post, but whether complete replacement counts as modification is another matter.

[BadWriter]

Hi Sigmabody, I did ready your story about a week ago and am just now getting around to a reply. I read your story and enjoyed it. Good job. As you said, you started with a daydream and added additional detail to turn it into a story. I thought the premise was good and your pacing was good. I hope you plan on writing more - either on Manor House or some other subject. One item that I didn't work for me was the rule that residents would be photographed in the bathroom. That seemed a bit unnecessary to me, especially when you're going to portray Bret as a normal, fun-loving guy later in the story. Otherwise, a good story. One more proof-read and edit would have made it even better. Like Puffer, I copied it into a word document an added formatting myself. The time it took to do that was easily offset by the time saved in reading. Besides, due to the length, I didn't plan to read it on-line so copying it into Word was part of the plan from the beginning. It was unfortunate that the board messed up your formatting but not fatal. Probably the biggest down-side is that some who might have read and enjoyed your story might have been put off. I think people would enjoy more fiction with a high heel theme. I didn't find the length to be a problem. As I mentioned before, I was planning to read it a little bit at a time, anyway. Chuck

[sigmabody]

One item that I didn't work for me was the rule that residents would be photographed in the bathroom. That seemed a bit unnecessary to me, especially when you're going to portray Bret as a normal, fun-loving guy later in the story.

As a total aside...

This was more of a concession to my objective analysis of the particulars with what would be involved in actually having such a place, rather than intended to convey anything about the proprieter. In particular, if you're going to have strict prohibitions against dangerous activities, such as drug use, you wouldn't want to allow obvious ways to circumvent them. The implication is that the surveilance is used solely to enforce the rules of the house, but I can see how it might be jarring with the feel otherwise; such is too often the case when reality (or in this case, objective analysis) collides with fantasy.

I am glad you enjoyed the story otherwise, though.

[Puffer]

As the moderators have not said 'no' to my offer to re-post Sigmabody's story with formatting, here it is. I have retained the original chapters, changed to a clearer font and added paragraphing but not altered any of the original spelling or grammar.

Puffer

- - - - - -

Chapter 1: Investigation

It was called the Manor House, at least according to her friend who had often told stories about when she had lived there for a while. It was not really a house, though, so much as an estate, tucked away in the hills above the city. Secluded and private, it was in many aspects the stereotypical compound where one might find a rich old man, indulging his eccentricities. At this point, though, Stacy didn’t particularly care what the particulars were; the story was that the owner provided free room and board for woman willing to meet the conditions of residence, and that was something she desperately needed at the moment.

Stacy was, as the saying goes, down on her luck. More specifically, she found herself recently without a job due to the economic downturn, and reluctant to accept the conditions for resuming her previous employment. Like many young women, Stacy had taken the trip out to Hollywood a few years ago, hoping to break into acting, and become the latest starlet. Then, also like many women before her, she found herself doing whatever work she could find while she went to auditions, and quickly exhausting the meager savings she had brought with her. For a while she had a steady job doing exotic dancing (she had a reasonable body, fit and trim, although a little on the skinny side on top for the profession), but when it became clear that the manager wanted her to be more “friendly” with the patrons than she was willing to be, she knew it was time to move on. Since then it had been this and that, hourly work, while she struggled to make rent.

It was after Stacy got the second eviction warning, and broke down crying thinking about giving up her acting dreams and moving back to live with her parents, that she remembered the story of the Manor House. A quick internet search (that, at least, was paid through the end of the month) revealed that it had a web site, some basic information, and a phone number for “prospective residents”. She glanced through the online information: the house looked impressive, but there were no residents in the pictures, and the site just said to call for details. There was also a short list of requirements for prospective residents, which included female, fit, personable, and a willingness to abide by the rules of the house; all of which seemed benign enough. “What the hell,” thought Stacy, “might as well inquire.”

After a couple a rings, the phone was picked up, and a pleasant female voice on the other end rattled off a standard greeting, “Manor House, may I help you?”

“Uh, yeah,” stammered out Stacy, somewhat surprised to be speaking to a real person in this day and age, and especially one without a perceptible foreign accent, “I just wanted to know about the house... is it possible to live there?” As soon as the words were out, Stacy felt a tinge of embarrassment; she hadn’t prepared anything to say in case the number was not a pre-recorded message.

Fortunately, the woman on the other end laughed it off, “Why yes, we do accept applications for consideration, and if you are selected you can reside in the Manor House. Are you interested in attending our informational meeting?”

Stacy was, in fact, interested, but she had one more important question to ask. “Yes,” she said, “but I need to ask something first. I don’t have very much money, but the person I heard about Manor House from said people can stay there for free. Is that true? I don’t want to waste any one's time if it was some sort of joke.”

“Well,” the woman responded, “it’s not necessarily free, but if you are accepted, it’s guaranteed to be affordable, no matter how much money you have or make. I could explain more, but you should just come to the meeting; don’t worry about money, though. Seriously, I know it sounds fishy, but it’s part of the program we have set up for the women who stay at the house.”

“Okay,” said Stacy, “when is the next meeting?”

She got the details from the nice woman: there was an orientation meeting every Friday morning at a building near the Manor House; Stacy got the time and directions. It was probably about 20 minutes away with no traffic, which meant she should allow 45 minutes at least. “Looks like I’m getting up early next Friday,” she mused, “good thing I don’t have any other pressing things to do.” At least today was Wednesday; she wouldn’t have too long to wait.

Chapter 2: Orientation

Friday morning brought an early rise, and a trip to the gas station along the way; Stacy knew her bank balance was dangerously low, and she had been only getting enough fuel for each week at a time. Unlike some of her friends, she was cautious about running up credit card debt, so she was almost debt-free; however, the last couple of months had been tough, and she was currently slightly in the hole. She had enough gas to get to the orientation meeting now, though, at least as far as the directions she had looked up indicated, and off she went, her ancient car once again obliging.

The location itself was in the hills just outside the main city area, and by the time Stacy got there it looked like she had driven into the country somewhere. She pulled up to a gate, where a guard gave her car the once over, asked what she was there for, and pointed her to a parking lot beside a small building. There were a few other cars there, and when Stacy got out she noticed a sign indicating the meeting location inside. She followed the arrow, and soon found herself at a desk outside a room, with a sign-in sheet. She also noticed several cameras around and inside the building; they were unobtrusive, but noticeable (not unlike a Vegas casino, for example).

Once she had provided her name and email, she was pointed into the room, where there were a group of other women who had already arrived. Stacy took a seat on the side, and waited. She didn’t have long to wait before she heard the distinctive click of high heels on the floor outside, and a well-dressed woman entered the room. She was a petite asian woman, dressed on a form-fitting business suit type outfit. When she took her seat at the front of the room facing the rest of the group, Stacy could see that she had some high platform heals on as well; she was probably barely five feet without them.

“Hello,” she said, “my name is Melissa, and I’m here to give you an introduction to Manor House. I am an employee of the Manor House Management Organization, a non-profit organization which runs the program under which the owner allows women to stay at the house, and I will be giving you a brief overview of the program we run, and then answering questions. This meeting shouldn’t take more than a half an hour or so, after which if any of you are interested in applying for consideration, I have the appropriate paperwork. So, let’s get started.”

Melissa then proceeded to give a brief history of the house itself: it was the personal residence of a Mr. Song, who established the non-profit to allow other people to stay there, essentially to keep the large estate from feeling very empty, and, added Melissa, to create a pleasant environment in which he could reside. Mr. Song, obviously, was a man of some wealth, and funded most of the non-profits operations through personal contributions. The rest came from the residents themselves, as Melissa explained.

“In order to stay at Manor House, the non-profit requires a contribution of 30% of the total income of all people staying as part of the program. Yes, this means that if you have no income, you don’t have to pay anything to reside there. As a non-profit accepting donations, we cannot force you to contribute anything; however, if it is discovered that you did not contribute the required amount, you will be removed from the program and forced to leave Manor House. Usually the residents find this requirement very generous, given the quality of the facilities and the amenities provided.”

“Other than the contributions, the only other requirement for residents is an adherence to the rules for the program. If any participant is found in violation of the rules, they can be removed from the program and forced to leave. We have no had very many problems with rule violations, but we also try to ensure that anyone accepted into the program is comfortable with the rules, and will have no trouble adhering to there. The rules are as follows,” continued Melissa, standing to write them as bullet points on the white board behind her for emphasis.

“Rule number one: security. Manor House is monitored by extensive security, and all residents must be comfortable being monitored, visually and otherwise, at all times while on the premises. Yes, this includes in your own rooms, and potentially all other places. This is for your protection, as well as the protection of the other residents, and anyone not comfortable with this requirement is hereby discouraged from applying. I can see that there are some questions,” continued Melissa, as several of the women present were clearly less comfortable with this condition, “and I will be happy to answer them once I am done with the main presentation.”

Stacy wasn’t sure how she felt about being watched all the time, but the truth was it didn’t actually bother her all that much. After all, she had done exotic dancing, and the men watching her then were probably significantly less professional than security people monitoring cameras. That also made the obvious camera’s Stacy had noticed in this building make more sense, she thought.

“Rule number two: personal health and conduct. At no time is drug use permitted for residents, nor excessive drinking. You will be tested for drugs as part of normal medical checkups. Residents are also required to stay reasonably fit and healthy; there are several facilities for doing so on the estate, and regular programs. You are also required to conduct yourself with decorum and respect the other residents and visitors. Basically, be nice and friendly to the other people at Manor House.”

“So far,” thought Stacy, “pretty standard stuff.” The drug use prohibition wouldn’t be a problem; Stacy had never done any serious drugs. Same for hard drinking; she had some friends that were known to get wasted easily and often, but it wasn’t something she enjoyed. Staying fit shouldn’t be a problem, either, and being friendly was just a matter of effort. So far, then, no sweat.

“The last rule,” continued Melissa, “is going to sound odd, but I’ll explain: all residents under the program are required to wear high heels at all times while at Manor House, aside from within their personal rooms or while engaged in activities which would prohibit such, such as swimming or sports or the like. This is for a few reasons: it helps encourage attention to appearance, it discourages juvenile behavior, and it indulges a personal preference of the owner. The type and style are at the discretion of each resident, but four inches or higher is the norm, not counting platforms.”

“Well,” thought Stacy, “that is a little odd.” Not that she would have any problem with it, she thought; after all, the heels she wore for dancing were quite a bit higher than that. Still, wearing heels around all day might get pretty tiring after a while; she wasn’t sure how that would work out. On the other hand, if that was the worst she would have to endure for effectively free rent, and a chance to stay in LA long enough to chase her dream, it didn’t seem that bad: surely aspiring actresses had done much worse in pursuit of that dream.

“That’s all for the rules,” said Melissa, “there are a few other small details which we can go over for people who are still interested in applying, but those are the big items. I can see from your faces that a few of you are no longer interested, which is fine; Manor House is certainly not for everyone, and as I said, we don’t want anyone staying there who is not comfortable with the rules. If you don’t think you would be comfortable, don’t feel like you have to stay any longer; the rest of the presentation is more aimed at people who might decide to apply. I’ll pause now, so anyone who wants to leave now can do so.”

Sure enough, several of the women got up to leave, and Stacy caught at least one dirty look directed at Melissa, although none of the women said anything. “That was hardly fair,” she thought, “it’s not like Melissa is making the rules, she’s just making the presentation.” Moreover, it wasn’t like someone was making the women come here, or try to stay at the house. “What is it today,” she pondered, philosophically, “when people get upset if handouts come with conditions?” Melissa waited until everyone who was leaving had left, then continued.

“There are a few other benefits to being a resident in the program, aside from just the room and board. The house has free food, which residents are welcome to, as well as regular prepared meals. The program also includes fully-paid health care for residents, and it is pretty top notch. There are also regular classes hosted at the estate, exercise and otherwise. Finally, there may be additional benefits to being a resident, based on the reputation of Manor House within the local community, but these are ancillary.”

“That concludes the regular presentation,” said Melissa, “I can now answer any questions you might have.”

Several hands were raised, and Melissa called on each in turn. Someone asked about being monitored even in the bathroom, to which the answer was yes. There were a couple questions about the specifics of the health care benefits, which Melissa went through. Then someone asked an interesting question: if Melissa herself was a resident. She smiled, and confirmed that she was indeed living at Manor House, under the same rules she just presented. “Well,” thought Stacy, “I guess her shoes certainly meet the qualifications for the last rule.” There were a couple more mundane questions, then nothing.

“Well,” said Melissa, “if there are no further questions, then I suppose we’re done. I have application forms if you are still interested; you can fill them out here if you want, or take them home, it’s your choice. If you are selected for a follow-up interview, we will notify you, and if we like you in the interview, we just might accept you into the program.”

Stacy hadn’t heard anything to really dissuade her from at least applying for the program, so she picked up an application, and went ahead and filled it out on the spot. “What the heck,” she though, “it’s only an application, and I can always back out if I don’t like the people or place during the interview.” She also noticed that the application form itself was refreshingly light on asking for personal details; it was nice to have a form which didn’t ask for her social security number, for example. That was also reassuring; if she didn’t like the place, at least she wouldn’t have given them all of her personal information. With the form added to the small pile on Melissa’s desk, and a wave, Stacy made her way back to her car, and back down the hill to her apartment.

Chapter 3: Interview

It was later that afternoon when Stacy’s phone rang, and the caller ID identified the call as a callback from Manor House. “Hello?” said Stacy, somewhat unsure what to make of the quick response.

“Hello Stacy, this is Melissa calling back. I’ve reviewed your application, and it seems like you might be the type of person we’re looking for for the program. I’d like to schedule an interview for you, if you’re still interested.”

“Of course,” said Stacy, with slightly more conviction than she actually felt at the time. It wasn’t like she was having second thoughts, but all of this was happening a little quickly, and normally Stacy needed to think things through a bit more.

“Well, we have openings at various times this week. What day and time would work best for you?”

Stacy thought for a second, then, realizing she didn’t have anything better to do, and her impending eviction was less than a week away now, said, “well, can I come in this evening?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, then Melissa came back, “Yes, I think that will work; I just had to check some scheduling. I will put you down for 7:00 pm, if that works for you.”

“Yes, that will work,” said Stacy, briefly considering if she actually had enough gas in her car for the return trip, or enough money in her bank account if she did not. “I should be fine,” she thought, “it didn’t seem like that long of a trip there.”

“Excellent,” said Melissa, “we can meet at Manor House itself, which is the next gate up the road from where we met this morning. I will leave word with the guard to be expecting you, and meet you at the parking structure. You don’t need to bring anything in particular, but you should wear the highest heels that you are comfortable walking around in. Oh, and you don’t need to eat dinner before, we’ll have food here. Any questions?”

“Nope,” said Stacy, “I will see you at seven.”

Meeting at seven gave Stacy a few hours to kill, so she decided to take a nap; that didn’t work too well, though, since she was very preoccupied with thinking about the interview, and Manor House in general. About a half hour later she abandoned the nap idea, and decided instead to do a full body scrub, and just spend extra time preparing herself. “Might as well look as good as possible,” she mused, “it’s not like looks don’t count for something in interviews, no matter what HR departments like to say.” With that in mind, she took a good hour in the bathroom, and afterwards dug into her closet to find the boxes of packed away shoes from her dancing days.

“Which to wear...” she thought, remembering the various outfits she had worn, and trying to recall how each felt, and which ones were more comfortable than others. Eventually she decided on some classic black strappy heels, with about a six inch heel and one inch platform; she had a few higher pairs, but Stacy was pretty sure she had never walked in them further than between backstage and a pole, whereas these had been easy to mingle in the clubs while wearing. Now that the shoes were decided, Stacy had to come up with an outfit to match; something nice, but not too revealing... but not too conservative either, given the shoes. Eventually she settled on a short-ish black dress which was tasteful enough for an evening out, but not too dressy. “Although,” she mused, while evaluating the entire outfit, “it does look decidedly more provocative with these shoes.” Melissa had said the highest shoes she could wear, though, so this was probably fine, she thought, if not expected.

With the outfit decided, and the makeup applied, Stacy decided to leave a little early, in case she hit traffic. This turned out to be a smart move, as there was actually considerable traffic, and Stacy found herself arriving at the gate to Manor House at almost exactly 7pm. Sure enough, there was another guard house, and when she told the guard her name, he gave her directions to a parking structure a bit inside the estate, and told her he would phone Melissa to meet her there. Stacy found the parking structure easily enough; it was partially underground, and near a large apartment-style building. “How odd,” she thought, “to have a parking structure on a private estate, and especially with this many cars inside.” Even with a number of cars already in the structure, though, Stacy had no trouble finding a spot, and there were plenty more available: clearly this structure was designed to hold enough cars for major events, or the like. This made Stacy curious as to just how large this estate was, and what events were held here; she didn’t have long to wonder, though, because as soon as she made her way to the front of the structure, she saw Melissa approaching.

Melissa was dressed in same business suit styled outfit that she had worn earlier at the orientation meeting, walking at a brisk pace across the courtyard between the structure and the residence building. She greeted Stacy, and led her inside the main building, which was not unlike the lobby of an upscale hotel. Melissa explained that this was the main residence building for people staying at Manor House, and was set up like a cross between a hotel and a college dormitory: the bottom couple levels had meeting rooms, lounge areas, and a dining area, while the upper floors had individual suites where the residents stayed. “Although,” said Melissa, “it would be more accurate to say that the women here mostly just use their rooms for sleep, personal time, and just getting away; the rest of the time our residents are generally in common areas, or using the various facilities. The program, and Mr Song in particular, encourages interaction and socializing among the residents, and the grounds and facilities here are pretty excellent, as you will see.”

As the walked through the “lobby” of the building, Stacy could see several women, presumably other residents of the facility, hanging out, talking, and/or working on various projects. She had sorta been expecting to see all twenty-something young things, all of whom could be considered “eye candy”, but the reality didn’t really match that preconception, at least as far as the initial few women she observed. Yes, all the women seemed fit, which certainly helped for appearance, but they were also of various ages, and Stacy saw one woman she estimated at over fifty at least. The women also were not all really attractive; most were wearing makeup and dressed well, but it seemed like the residents were selected from all walks of life, and not just ones who could have gone into modeling. One thing was consistent, though: they all had high heels on, even the ones who were just lounging around.

“We have a few more residents than normal in the main building now,” said Melissa, as they made their way toward one of the more private side rooms, “because dinner time is coming up. We have a full dining facility with a resident chef, and we have dinner regularly at 7:30. Residents are encouraged to attend dinners if possible; not only is the food good, but it’s an excellent time to catch up with the other residents. It’s not mandatory, of course, but generally most of the residents do attend dinners. Oh, and I hope you’re hungry, because we’re going too. You see, being able to get along with the other residents, and enhance each other’s experience at Manor House, is really the main consideration for acceptance into the program, so this will give us an excellent opportunity to evaluate how the other residents take to you, and let you see what people here are like.”

By this time they had made their way to one of the side alcoves, where there were a set of meeting rooms, Stacy followed Melissa into the one she entered. Stacy had a seat, and Melissa closed the door behind her. As she looked around, she noticed a couple cameras; they were discrete, but not trying to be hidden. Melissa took a seat next to a small stack of papers which were already on the desk in the center of the room.

“Now these,” Melissa said, gesturing at the papers, “are some standard disclosures and forms, for all prospective residents. You can read them if you want, but they’re pretty standard. You’re welcome to fill them out now if you like, or we can wait to see if you’re approved by the acceptance committee; I like to be optimistic, though, and you seem like the kind of person who we would take to live here.”

“I’ll take that as a complement,” said Stacy, with a gentle smile, “and I’m flattered, but I still don’t know much about Manor House, aside from the rules. I did see you weren’t kidding about the heels thing; do all the women who live here have to follow that rule?”

Melissa nodded, “Yes, but I think many would take exception to thinking of it as ‘have to’. After a bit, it just sorta becomes a standard part of living here, and like anything else you get used to you don’t really think about it any more. Take these, for example,” she said, lifting her pant leg to give Stacy a better view of her shoes, which Stacy could now see were wide-strap sandals, with thin heels over which were at least five inches (but with probably a half-inch platform), “these are actually one of my lower heels, which I can wear around all day without thinking about it; I have higher ones for special occasions. But I don’t think about it as ‘having’ to wear them; I loved wearing high heels before I came here, and now I can wear them all the time, and have regular checkups with a podiatrist for free to make sure I’m not hurting myself doing so. I can’t speak for the other residents, but for me, it’s not a burden at all; in fact, it was actually pretty liberating. Also, between you and me, I think the selection committee looks for that as well: women for whom the rules are not really a burden, but more of an opportunity to be themselves. Of course,” she smiled, “that could just be me.”

“Huh...” said Stacy, and paused for a moment to contemplate while Melissa looked on. Part of the fun of dancing for her, when she was doing it, was to dress up in overly sexual outfits, and enjoy the feeling of being desired, and the one constant in exotic dancing outfits was really high heels. However, Stacy wasn’t the type of girl to wear heels all the time, and she always considered dancing to be a sort of “dress up” exercise. Of course she had “going out” shoes, and such, but it wasn’t like she ever got the urge to stroll around her apartment in her dancing shoes (aside from the one boyfriend who was really into that, but that was for his edification, not hers). But, how much of that was of her own choice, she wondered, and how much was a product of her conservative up-bringing, subconsciously influencing her perceptions of what was proper. It was something to think about, Stacy decided, even if they didn’t accept her to live at Manor House.

Melissa brought her back to the present, “Well, if you have any more questions, I’d be happy to address them, we have a few minutes before the dinner will be ready. I don’t really have anything specific to ask you; as I said before, our selection process is mainly about if candidates will be comfortable following the rules, and if they get along with the other residents and will enhance the living experience here for the rest of us.”

Stacy thought for a moment, before an obvious question popped into her head, “So... I saw some women of various ages when we walked through the lobby; are all the residents here single, without kids, or what’s the deal with that?”

“Ahh,” replied Melissa, “yes, more or less. The policy is that we don’t take residents who have children generally speaking, although the organization has made exceptions for a few special cases, usually on a short-term basis. Boyfriends are certainly permitted, and can visit, but the resident is responsible for their behavior while on the grounds. The same goes for regular friend visits, or family, or the like.”

“However,” she continued, “there are some logistical and... “practical” hurtles to deal with. First, most residents share rooms, so it’s not usually practical to have intimate relations at Manor House, unless special arrangements are made; it’s kinda like a college dorm in that sense. Also, a lot of the women don’t take family here, because they are worried about judgemental attitudes or comments, and how it might reflect on them. It’s important to remember that staying at Manor House is a privilege, not a right, and one of the only things that would get you kicked out once your accepted (other than violating the few rules) is creating an uncomfortable environment for other residents. I think you’ll find that for the people who live here, being allowed to live here is like winning the life lottery, in a lot of ways, and they really don’t want to screw it up.”

“I see...” said Stacy, and took a moment to think about her own situation. She was, after all, looking into Manor House as a means to stay in LA to pursue her dreams, and if it fell through she was likely to be forced to move back in with her parents, and away from her friends and life here; into the cramped house she grew up in, and living under her parent’s rules. Maybe she’d get a job at the local market or something, and the other local women could ask her why she hadn’t popped out a few kids yet. “Yeah,” thought Stacy, “I could see how you might be careful not to do anything to jeopardize your chance to stay here, and I haven’t even seen most of the place.”

Then, another thought occurred to her. “So, the women here, do they work at all? Or just kinda sit around all day?”

“Well,” replied Melissa, “having some sort of vocational ambition is strongly encouraged here, both for personal advancement and so that you can have some spending money. Although the program provides for basic needs like food and residence, everything else is generally the responsibility of the resident, which means still holding down a job. There are certainly a few women here who don’t currently work, at least for any paying job, but for the most part everyone still has ambitions and goals, and is working toward them. As I mentioned before, Manor House hosts regular classes, some of which are tailored toward job skills, and the program can provide some assistance for residents who just want a normal job to pay for routine expenses.”

“Also, as a side note,” she added, dropping her voice and adding a conspiratorial smile, “Mr Song has been known to take residents on shopping trips for appropriate shoes, if they happen to mention they are running low on footwear which conforms to the rules for Manor House. You didn’t hear that from me, though.”

“So most of the residents just work normal jobs, then, to pay for routine expenses?”

“Well, for the most part, yeah,” answered Melissa. “There are a few with more interesting vocations, but I will leave it to their discretion to share that information if they wish; I wouldn’t want to assume what people want to keep private. You can ask the other residents about it, when you are socializing with them, if you want. Speaking of which, we should head over to the dining hall area; it’s getting pretty close to dinner, and I’ve had a long day.”

Melissa got up, and Stacy followed her out of the conference room, and once again through the lobby area of the building. They walked to a new section of the building, where sliding doors opened into a room which reminded Stacy of a nice buffet-style restaurant in Las Vegas. There was, in fact, a large buffet area on one side, and a group of women gathered there, selecting from the various offerings which had been prepared. The seating was varied: it looked like there were some open areas with large tables, some more private booths, and maybe even some private rooms toward the side. The whole place had an upscale yet casual dining feel, and the background sounds of conversation had already begun amongst the women already seated.

“Serve yourself,” said Melissa, handing Stacy a tray from the pile at the end of the buffet line, “everything is good, although some things might be better than others, depending on your tastes. There’s also a short-order cook on staff,” she said, pointing to an area further back in the buffet section, “who can prepare special-order items. The selection is not as comprehensive as you might find at a real restaurant, but that’s because Manor House doesn’t like to waste food; there’s usually a few unique daily items, and then a set of staples which are less perishable. It’s pretty excellent for free food, though, in my opinion, but see what you think. I’ll catch up with you when you’re ready to sit, and we’ll find some people to eat with.” With that, Melissa turned her attention to the food selection, leaving Stacy to contemplate the same.

She wandered a bit along the rows, checking out the selection; it was, as Melissa described, pretty good, especially for a private residence. Then she remembered what she was wearing, and decided to go light on the carbs and heavy on the salads; eating healthy was something she thought about more frequently when dressed in something revealing, and she hadn’t dressed this provocatively since her time at the gentleman’s club. Looking around, though, it didn’t seem like she was out of place with her attire: there were certainly other women in similarly dressed-up outfits. In fact, she decided, the ubiquitous prevalence of very high heels among all the diners made most of the outfits look dressed-up; for example, one of the women she spotted was wearing a loose shirt and faded jeans, with pant legs short enough to show off shiny black strappy gladiator-style sandal heels, which matched the rest of the outfit perfectly, as if she just stepped out from a fashion shoot.

There was a strange, but intriguing, vibe here, Stacy decided, as she continued to survey the women in the dining room. It somewhat reminded her of a sorority house, where all the women dressed as models, but were all otherwise normal looking. There were some very attractive women, to be sure, and all the women she saw were certainly slim, but otherwise it seemed to be a fairly broad cross-section of looks and ages. Everyone seemed friendly, though, smiling and chatting casually with everyone else. Stacy realized she was standing still in thought when Melissa caught up with her, and interrupted her contemplation with, “So, shall we find some people to eat with?”

Melissa led her through the tables, and Stacy could see that there were several distinct areas in the large room. The front was very open, with a sort of dining hall style layout of tables, and a bright open decor to match. The middle/back section was more like a standard restaurant, with tables and booths, and a more subdued decorative theme. To the side, there were meeting room areas, with more private booths and tables, with part business and part quiet lounge themes. Most of the women were eating in the first two areas, and Melissa was wandering through, greeting various people with a cheerful smile. Eventually she settled on a table where three other women around Stacy’s age were sitting, and asked of they could join them.

“Of course,” said one of the women, “is this another prospective resident you’re showing around?”

“Yes,” replied Melissa, “this is Stacy.”

“Pleased to meet you, Stacy,” said the woman, “my name is Jane, and this is Susan and Sandy.”

Stacy and Melissa sat down, and before she knew it, Stacy was chatting with these new women as if she had known them forever, and had just been separated for a while. The topics varied widely, but before she knew it, she noticed that most of the other people had left the dining room, and it was well past sunset. Eventually there was a slight lull in the conversation, and Melissa pointed out that it was late, and they should let Stacy head home now, if she wanted to; they had already kept her longer than they intended, and they didn’t want to take up her whole evening.

“Unless,” said Jane, with a conspiratorial smile, “you’d like to join us for a night out. The girls and I were planning on hitting a favorite club tonight, and getting our dance on, have a few drinks, maybe meet a few guys... If you’d like to come, you’re welcome to join us... as long as it’s okay with Melissa,” she added.

Melissa held up her hands, “Don’t look at me, she’s an adult, and I’m not chaperoning her. If she wants to join you, it’s up to her,” and, she added to Stacy, “it won’t reflect on you at all either way for consideration for application to Manor House, just to make that clear. I think we have plenty of information to make that decision; if you want to have some fun with the girls here, it’s up to you.”

Stacy considered her alternative plans for that Friday night, which tentatively consisted of packing more belongings into boxes in preparation for her likely pending eviction, “Uh, sure, I’d love to go. But,” she added, after a moment’s consideration, “my car is here; what if I can’t drive home after we get back?”

“Oh, no worries,” said Sandy, cheerfully, “I have an empty bed in my room here at the house, and you’re welcome to crash there for the night. It’s not breaking any rules to have guests over, and as long as you don’t snore too loudly, it shouldn’t be a problem,” she added, with a smile.

“Great, it’s settled then,” said Jane, and then added with another conspiratorial look, “and I know just the person we can probably get to drive us there and back. Won’t that be interesting for the new girl,” she added, and shared a knowing look with the other women.

Stacy turned to Melissa for an explanation, and thought she caught a glimpse of an eye roll. “Oh, don’t look at me,” she said, “I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise. I’ll be available tomorrow morning if you end up crashing here; just call me when and I’ll show you around a bit more during the day time. Ladies,” she said, standing from the table, “have fun.”

“We will,” the girls said, more or less in unison, as Melissa walked away.

Chapter 4: After-Interview

Jane had to make a call to see if her mysterious chauffeur would be available, and all the girls wanted to change before going to the club, so Sandy volunteered to take Stacy back to her room with her to hang out while she did so. They walked back through the lobby of the building, to a set of elevators. “The main residence building is actually a lot like a hotel,” explained Sandy, as she pressed the button for the third floor, “there are some other meeting rooms on the lower level, and personal rooms on the upper levels.” From the buttons, Stacy could deduce that the building had five floors, at least which could be reached by the elevator.

They got out at the third floor, and walked through a series of well-lit hallways, passing by several other doors before getting to the one Sandy approached. Barely slowing down, she pressed her hand against a panel on the wall, and the door clicked unlocked as she opened it with her other hand. “Biometrics,” she said, which if Stacy remembered correctly meant reading fingerprints or something, “makes it super easy to get around here, and you don’t have to remember keys or anything. This door is programmed to the people who are living in the suite, but other doors in the common areas work for anyone staying here; it’s pretty cool.

Stacy nodded, and followed Sandy into the room. Inside, there was a kind of lobby area of a suite, with a bathroom and a couple bedroom doors. She followed Sandy into one of the bedrooms, where there was a large window overlooking an interior courtyard. “Make yourself at home,” said Stacy, going immediately to her closet, “I just need to change, and get ready, and we’ll be good to go; shouldn’t be more than twenty minutes or so. Bathroom’s over there, sorry about the mess, I wasn’t expecting people, yada yada.” She grabbed a few things, and headed towards the bathroom area; Stacy hardly noticed, though, because she was busy taking in the rest of the outside view.

The courtyard was not very well lit at night, but the pathways had some minimal lights, and that in combination with the moon gave the grounds a soft, serene look. She could see a large house on the left, which seemed to be actually connected to the main residence building she was in, although it was architecturally distinct (that is, it looked like a regular, albeit large, house, rather than a hotel building). There was also a large garden area just beyond the courtyard, and rolling hills with trees beyond that. Stacy could see someone jogging around the garden too, on what looked like a jogging path. “That’s cool,” she thought, a moment later, as she watched the jogger: there were lights on the path which were lighting up as she approached, and fading as she went by; it was like the lighting was moving with the jogger.

Stacy wasn’t sure how long she was standing there staring at the grounds, but eventually she finally decided to look around the room she was in. Sandy wasn’t kidding about the mess, although it was not really that much more cluttered than Stacy’s room at any given day, but her gaze was drawn to the closet Sandy had left open, where there was quite the collection of shoes, probably taking up a third of the closet space. Some were arranged neatly and some were strewn about, but almost all were high heels, and of those Stacy guessed all were at least four inches. “Makes sense,” she thought, “to live within the rules here, and still have a good variation.” Stacy briefly considered her own footwear, which she had been wearing for the last few hours, “Good thing I picked shoes I’ve actually walked for a whole shift in; it looks like I might be wearing them all night tonight.” The rest of the room was fairly simple: two beds, end tables, a couple dressers and closets, and that was about it.

Feeling a little like she was intruding on Sandy’s personal space, Stacy went back to the lounge area, where there was a large couch she could relax on. Manor House still felt a little surreal, but everything she had seen was matching up with what she had been told: there was indeed a large estate, with obviously high-tech security, and women did live here, obviously abiding by the rules to do so. She could hear Sandy getting ready in the bathroom, which reminded her of the question she had planned on asked some of the girls, before she was absorbed in the dinner conversations.

“So,” said Stacy, “if you don’t mind me asking, what do you do for work? I saw you had quite a few nice pairs of shoes...”

“Oh, yeah,” said Sandy from the bathroom, “actually, I work as a substitute teacher, part time. During the week I wouldn’t be able to go out like tonight, because you never know if you’re going to be called in the next day, and have to be up bright and early, but since today is Friday, I can go out. I also do some writing when I’m not doing teaching; I’d like to get published at some point, or maybe get a screen play purchased, but in the meantime, teaching pays well enough to afford everything I want, and save a little money too. Of course, it helps that living here is pretty cheap, especially compared to how nice it is.”

“I actually went to school for creative writing, and that’s what I wanted to do,” she continued, “but it’s hard to get a break in the writing business, and teaching was an easy fallback. That’s also where I heard about Manor House, from one of my sorority sisters at the university. It turned out that a few of them were living here while the went to school, and after I took a visit, I was hooked. It sure beat the hell out of spending all the money I made on my part time job on campus to live in a crappy one bedroom with a roommate while going to school. When I graduated, I just kept living here while I looked for work, and here I am today. Heck, I’ll probably stay here as long as they let me, or at least until I want to get married or something; this place is great.”

“That’s what happened to my last room mate, by the way; she just moved out about a month ago. I don’t know if anyone has mentioned this, but they assign you rooms here, and usually you have a roommate. If I remember right, the people running the organization felt it was important for the residents here to socialize with each other, and making sure people had roommates was part of that. It also makes it sorta inconvenient to have a long-term relationship while living here; it’s possible, of course, but there are usually some uncomfortable nights. That’s the main reason people move out, at least of the people I know: you find the right guy, and you want to be able to have more alone time, if you know what I mean.”

“But I’m rambling again, aren’t I; sorry. I forgot your question, did I answer it okay?”

“Perfectly fine,” said Stacy, “and it’s no problem at all; I was actually wondering about dating life living here too. It’s nice to know that it’s possible, at least, and not restricted by the rules or anything.”

“Nope,” said Sandy, emerging from the bathroom on the way to the bedroom, “I think the rules here are pretty relaxed, but then again I’m used to running a classroom.” Sandy had changed her clothes, and done her makeup, and looked nearly ready for a night out on the town. She moved into her room, and emerged a moment later with some long black boots to match her short black skirt, fishnets, and top which showed off the kind of stomach you had to work hard to preserve. She sat next to Stacy, and began the process of lacing up the boots, which Stacy could see were knee height, and had around six inch heels. It was about as far away from the image Stacy had of a conservative school teacher as she could imagine.

“So,” said Stacy after a moment, as she found herself staring at Sandy’s boots, “are you actually planning on doing any dancing tonight, or just mainly sitting in those?”

Sandy laughed, as she continued to lace up her boots, “Oh, I plan to do some dancing, for sure. One of the benefits of wearing heels around all day here is you kinda just get used to it, to the point where you’re doing most of the stuff you would normally do anyway. Also, these are actually easier to dance in that open shoes like those,” she said, gesturing toward Stacy’s shoes, “because of the ankle support. Not that I couldn’t dance in shoes like those too, though,” she added with a smile, “and I’m sure I have. I think you’ll find most of the women here are pretty comfortable in heels, at least after living here for a few months.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” acknowledged Stacy, wondering how she would be after a few months at Manor House. On the one hand, she had worn shoes as high as the boots Sandy was lacing on for the evening; her current shoes were probably just as high, actually. On the other hand, the thought of going out dancing in them without backup flats was daunting, to say the least, but at the same time she found the thought of being able to do so strangely a little exhilarating. “I’d have men lined up to buy me drinks,” she mused, “like a supermodel, or a movie star...”

A few moments later, Sandy brought her out of her daydream of being a movie starlet, going out every night in fabulously sexy outfits and partying the nights away. “Okay,” she announced, “I’m ready, let me give Jane a call and see if we have a ride, or if we need to scrounge up cab fare.”

Sandy got on her phone, and it was obvious even from the one-sided conversation that the ride was, in fact, going to be available. “...okay,” she said, after a moment’s conversion, “we’ll be down in about fifteen. See you then.”

“So, we have about ten minutes to kill,” she said, “anything else you want to know, or see? Or, wait, I’m being silly... did you need to freshen up or anything while we’re here? I wasn’t even thinking about that.”

It turns out Stacy hadn’t been thinking about that either, and once Sandy mentioned it, it sounded like a really good idea. So the two women spent the next ten minutes mostly in the bathroom, with Sandy helping Stacy go from “interview conservative” to something more appropriate for a Friday night out in Hollywood (although Stacy was careful not to go too over-the-top into trashy). Once they had deemed Stacy “ready”, almost fifteen minutes had gone by, and they hurried out of the room to meet the other girls, and catch their ride.

Their ride, in this case, turned out to be a large SUV which was parked in front of the main building, which they could see from the lobby areas where Stacy and Sandy met up with the other girls. They, too, had apparently been changing and preparing for a night on the town, and looked equally stunning. Jane was wearing a skin-tight deep red mini-dress with matching five inch Mary Jane pumps; Susan had a slightly more conservative black dress, offset with distinctly less conservative six inch ankle boots with decorative locks attached to the sides at the ankles, which jingled slightly as she walked (at least, Stacy assumed they were decorative). They took a moment to gush over each other’s choice of outfits and accessories, and then headed outside.

There, a couple awaited them. The man appeared to be in his forties, tall, and reasonably fit; not unattractive, Stacy decided, but way too old for me. He introduced himself as Bret, and seemed to have a easy-going charm about him. The woman appeared to be in her early thirties, but really could have been anywhere between twenty and fifty; it was hard for Stacy to judge from her appearance. She introduced herself as Margaret, and Stacy could tell that she was a bit less easy going, and more business-like, although still relaxed and friendly. They were both dressed to go out, although neither were as “dressed up” as the girls: Bret had a casual suit which fit him well, and Margaret had black pants and a conservative top which looked classy, but didn’t do much to show off her figure. Stacy also noticed that Margaret was wearing high heeled boots as well, although certainly not showing them off with the pant legs which almost came to the ground, covering most of her shoes.

“Bret is good for rides to the clubs, when he’s not otherwise occupied and stuff,” offered Jane, as the girls helped each other into the back seats of the SUV, “and Margaret comes along to make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble.”

“They just like calling me because I can get private rooms at a few clubs,” said Bret, as he settled into the front seat and started the car, “and I certainly enjoy the company, and of course the gorgeous scenery.” The girls laughed, and thanked him for the ride. Stacy glanced to Margaret at the remark, expected to see perhaps a glare, but instead caught what looked like an eye roll; “I guess she’s okay with his flirtation,” she thought, “not sure I would be, but whatever works for them.”

They drove out the long driveway from Manor House, and out the main gate, which opened automatically as the vehicle approached. Getting back to the main road, they drove down the hill and into the city, eventually ending up at one of the more upscale and seemingly popular clubs in the area. The name didn’t ring a bell for Stacy, but Jane said it was more of an under-the-radar hang out, so it didn’t get much publicity, but celebrities still occasionally frequented it, when they more wanted to just relax than play to the cameras. Bret pulled the SUV up to the valet station, then came around to help the ladies out.

True to his word, Bret apparently had an “in” at this club, and the group ignored the small line of people waiting in front, and entered directly through a side entrance. Of course, dressed as they were and with the female to male ratio in the group, and knowing how clubs normally operate, Stacy figured they almost certainly could have easily breezed in through the front-door as well, but there was something indulgent about being waved in through the VIP entrance. The indulgence didn’t stop there either, as a host was waiting for them inside, and directed “sir” Bret and his entourage to a semi-private VIP booth, with a bottle of champagne waiting on ice. The booth offered a view of the entire dance floor from above, and the party was already in full swing. “Oh, I could get used to this,” though Stacy, “I can definitely see why Jane wanted a ride from this guy.”

“Champagne?” asked Bret, grabbing the bottle, “I ordered ahead.” He popped the cork, and started pouring glasses. “You can leave whatever you want here; we have the booth until we leave, and security here is pretty good. I’ll be here when I’m not out on the floor, so if you want a break from dancing, I’ll do what I can to provide entertaining conversation. But for now, a toast to a great night out!” Glasses were raised, drinks were downed, and the girls headed out to the dance floor, leaving Bret and Margaret with their purses at the booth.

Stacy didn’t know how long she danced for, but it felt great. The DJ was good, the atmosphere was great, she’d had a few drinks and flirted with more than a few hot guys; she’d even danced a bit with Bret, when he briefly joined them on the dance floor. She wanted to just keep going all night, but eventually her feet just could not take it any more, their complaints were getting strong enough to go through the alcohol-encouraged euphoria, and Stacy needed to head back to the booth. She excused herself from the other girls (none of whom seemed tired yet), and made her way back up to the VIP section.

It felt so good to relax on the cushioned booth seat, Stacy thought, and just sit for a few. The music was also more subdued in the VIP booth, she noticed, so conversation was much easier than the shouting matches necessary to convey any information on the main floor. Bret was in the booth, just watching people on the dance floor, but Margaret was nowhere to be seen.

“Good times?” asked Bret, “Margaret decided to get in on some of the dancing, so I’ve just been hanging out. How do you like this place?”

“It’s great,” said Stacy, “but I just needed to sit for a bit. I’m not used to being in these shoes, especially with all the dancing, clearly my clubbing endurance is lacking,” she added, with a relaxed smile. Some part of her mind was also aware that her drinking endurance was also lacking, and so with it some of her conversational filters, but the overwhelming majority of her mind just didn’t care.

“Well, here,” offered Bret, “there aren’t any stools, but you’re welcome to put your feet up on my legs, if you like.”

“Well, if you’re offering...” said Stacy, and swung her legs up to rest on Bret’s thighs. “Ahhh...” she exhaled, and leaned back into the plush seat, “that feels great.” A few moments later she felt Bret’s hands on her legs, gently rubbing her calves, and that felt great too. She leaned back and closed her eyes, listening to the music, and enjoying the feeling, and murmured, “yeah, really good times.”

She must have been lying there for a few minutes before the next thought made its way through the pleasant combination of the alcohol, the really comfortable seat, and Bret’s continued casual rubbing of her lower legs. “Now, don’t take this the wrong way, and certainly don’t stop what you’re doing,” she said, raising her head from the seat-back just enough to make eye contact, “but won’t your... girlfriend get upset if she comes back here to this?” She realized she didn’t know what Bret an Margaret’s relationship actually was mid-question, so she went with girlfriend, with a somewhat uncertain emphasis.

Bret smiled, “Well, that would be an entirely appropriate response, I suppose, if I had a girlfriend. Margaret isn’t my girlfriend, though, she’s just a friend who sometimes accompanies me when I go out, to make sure I don’t get into any trouble. If I had an exclusive significant other, I would be worried about fostering feelings of jealously when I’m around other beautiful women, especially if I am friendly towards them, and since I enjoy doing both of those things, I choose to remain resolutely single. Of course,” he added with another smile, “I have been known to fool around from time to time, but only if it’s clear there are no expectations for commitments. I prefer it that way.”

“I’ll bet you do,” murmured Stacy, but in a playful sort of way, leaning her head back on the seat. “As long as you keep rubbing, though, I won’t pass judgement.”

“Deal,” said Bret, and Stacy did her best to once again melt into the cushions.

She must have sat there for a good twenty minutes; the combination of a hard song transition and her buzz wearing off eventually jolted her up again, and she decided she didn’t want to miss the rest of the time in the club just relaxing in the booth (as tempting as that sounded). Instead, she decided to drag Bret to the dance floor for a song, and after some prodding, he joined her. Truth be told, he wasn’t much of a dancer, but seemed to have a good time, and they found the other girls toward the end of the song, still mingling on the dance floor.

The group ended up staying at that single club for the rest of the evening, and well into the morning, leaving just before closing near 2am. Stacy danced with the other girls for most of the rest of the time, and let the drinks work to ignore any discomfort she felt. By the time they went home, Sandy was making sure she drank lots of water, but the rest of the evening was a blur of individual memories and impressions, rather than a coherent whole. She did remember getting helped back into the car, which Bret drove back to Manor House, and leaning on Sandy quite a bit on the way back to her room. She remembered having to use the bathroom right when she got back to the room, being helped into bed, and at least getting her dress off before falling asleep. And the next morning, she recollected on having the best night out she could almost entirely remember.

Chapter 5: Orientation, On-Site

Thankfully, Stacy awoke the next morning without too much of a hangover; it was light outside when she rolled over, and she didn’t feel the overwhelming urge to crawl back into a dark spot. That wasn’t to say that she felt great, but she’d certainly had worse mornings, and the fact that she wasn’t running to the bathroom or sleeping in vomit was a testament to the kindness of Sandy, making sure she drank enough water after the other beverages she consumed last night. There was even a robe waiting next to the bed, which Stacy availed herself of on the way to the bathroom. It wasn’t even until she was coming back out that she noticed Sandy, already up, sitting on the couch with a laptop on her lap.

“Well, good morning,” said Sandy, pausing from whatever she had been doing on the computer, “sleep well?”

“Uh... more or less,” replied Stacy, still somewhat in a haze, “you?”

“Oh, pretty good, but I don’t think I had quite as many drinks as you did,” Sandy said with a smile, “you seemed pretty out of it. You’d need to be a little more careful if you end up living here; there is a rule about excessive drinking, you know. Although, they are pretty liberal about that; as long as you’re not partying it up disturbing others, or puking all over, it’s generally fine. Besides, everybody likes to let loose once in a while, right?”

“It was a great time,” Stacy said, “even with the morning after included.”

“Good to hear,” said Sandy, “I texted Melissa while you were in the bathroom, to let her know you were up and about; she did want to see you today, I think, and maybe take you around the facilities. No rush, though: feel free to shower if you want, or just kick back, you do still look a little exhausted.”

“Yeah,” said Stacy, settling into a side chair in the lounge, “I really didn’t mean to drink that much, but I wanted to keep dancing, and my feet were killing me in the heels. Rather than just sit in the booth all night, I decided to have a few more drinks than I would have normally, just so I could stay out on the floor. Did you even take any breaks?”

“Yeah, but mainly just to talk with Bret and stuff,” said Sandy, “I could probably have gone all night, if the club didn’t close,” she added, extending her legs out from the couch and wiggling her feet, “these babies have been well trained.” Then a smile spread over her face, “Heck, I wouldn’t be surprised if Susan did go all night in her shoes, in a manner of speaking; she met a guy before we left, and was going to go home with him, and I think she might have left her keys back here. She’s kinda kinky like that, sometimes; I think she does it to compensate for being conservative the rest of the time. Good for her, though.”

“Wait,” said Stacy, still processing the information, “you mean the locks on her boots weren’t decorative, they were actually holding them on? Like she couldn’t take them off?”

“Oh, don’t look so shocked,” said Sandy, with a grin, “it’s not like we all don’t do crazy things from time to time, and that’s not even all that crazy. I’ve done worse... but nothing I’m going to tell you about, at least not without a lot of drinks. Anyway, I’m sure Susan is fine; I don’t have any desperate texts from her, so it’s probably all good.”

“I guess so...” said Stacy, although she wasn’t entirely convinced, “anything else I missed last night? Did Jane make out with Margaret or anything?”

Sandy laughed, and Stacy, after a moment, laughed too. She decided that, although going to a club with your shoes locked on and the key at home was a little strange, in the scope of all the crazy things people could do on nights out in pursuit of a good time, it really wasn’t that dangerous. She also realized that she really could use a shower, and decided to take Sandy up on her offer. The shower, it turned out, felt really nice, and Stacy observed that all the fixtures in the bathroom were really high quality, more like a luxury hotel than a dormitory. “I could definitely get used to this,” she thought, wrapping herself back in the bathrobe, which felt extra soft and luxurious after the shower.

“Melissa will be over in a few,” Sandy announced when Stacy eventually emerged from the bathroom, “so you should get dressed. I put your clothes by the bed last night.”

Stacy made her way back to the bedroom, and observed that her dress was indeed sitting by the bed, along with her shoes from last night. She dressed, and, not really having any other options, eased her feet into her shoes again. They felt distinctly less comfortable than before she had gone dancing in them for several hours, but she was glad she had gone with this pair instead of one of the higher platforms she owned; at least with these, she could still walk the next day. Hopefully Melissa didn’t have a lot of walking in mind for the tour though, she thought, or there might need to be some sitting breaks.

She had just walked back out into the lounge when there was a ring of a doorbell, and a small monitor next to the entrance door lit up, showing Melissa outside. Sandy got the door, and invited Melissa in.

“Hi, hi,” said Melissa, as she embraced Sandy, then looked over to Stacy, “I heard you had a kinda rough night last night... or should I say fun?”

“Oh, loads on fun,” said Stacy, also giving Melissa a friendly hug, “although my body might beg to differ.” Melissa was dressed much more casually than the last time Stacy saw her: she had a pair of short hip-hugging shorts, a short-sleeve shirt which was tied up casually to show off her toned and tanned midriff, and her hair was down, giving her a sort of college athlete relaxing look. The look was complemented by her tan t-strap sandal-style heels, which were around five inches, but with a blocky heel. Compared to the other shoes Stacy had seen around Manor House in the last twenty-four hours, though, they looked downright relaxing, and Stacy felt a tinge of shoe-envy.

“Before we take off,” said Melissa, “I have something to tell you. I talked to the other resident committee members this morning, and we agreed that you seem like the sort of person we would be delighted to have staying here. So, we’re extending you an offer to stay at Manor House, if you wish.”

“Oh, congratulations,” blurted out Sandy, giving Stacy a big hug, “that’s great!”

“She hasn’t accepted anything yet,” said Melissa with a smile, “so don’t start planning a party or anything. As for all residents, the first three months are the trial period, where you are adjusting to the rules and accidental infractions can be overlooked, and the other residents can weigh in on if you really fit in here. After that, though, if you’re still here, you’re officially part of the family, so to speak, and you can stay as long as you want.”

Stacy had to take a moment to take it all in. Sandy was very giddy, and Melissa was smiling; she felt like she had just rushed a sorority or something in the last twelve hours. “It’s all a little sudden,” she said, “it’s great, but I need to think about all this.”

“Of course,” said Melissa, “no need to make a decision on the spot, I just wanted to break the good news. Mr. Song, in particular, thought you seemed like a good fit, and his word does carry considerable weight in deciding who can stay at his house, as you might guess.”

“That’s great,” said Stacy, still processing the information, “but I didn’t even meet Mr. Song, how can he have an opinion on me?”

Melissa glanced over to Sandy, with a look which seemed like a combination of surprise and playful scorn, “You didn’t tell her, did you?”

“Well, I certainly didn’t,” said Sandy, still with a giant grin on her face, “and apparently he played it cool too. Or maybe he told her, and she forgot. Either way, that’s pretty awesome.”

“Okay,” said Stacy, glancing back and forth between the two women, both of whom were still smiling, “somebody want to tell me what you too obviously already know?”

“Well, since Sandy didn’t,” said Melissa, with a playful half-glare her way, “I guess I can fill you in. Your ‘ride’ from last night was Bret Song, the owner of Manor House.” Turning to Sandy, “Did Margaret go with you too?”

“Yes,” said Sandy, obviously enjoying Stacy’s dumbfounded reaction. Margaret is Mr. Song’s assistant, who sometimes also accompanies him on after-hours outings.”

Stacy was still in shock, desperately trying to remember what exactly she had said and done last night. “Mr. Song likes to go out sometimes with residents, for fun, and they like inviting him because he gets VIP perks at most of the clubs, and he’s actually pretty fun to hang out with. Oh, and he doesn’t drink much, which means he can be the designated driver. I asked him once why he didn’t just rent a limo, but he said he liked driving himself most days; must be a guy thing or something. Anyway, you have met him, and he liked you, and that is that.”

“Uh... yeah, okay...” stammered out Stacy, her mind still playing catch up. Somehow she had pictured Mr. Song as a much older man, living a secluded life in his mansion, only emerging for doctor visits and charity events, with someone to wheel him around. Bret seemed young and active, even though he was obviously somewhat older, and had just been out with four twenty-something girls (and his assistant) till well past 2am. It was a lot to take in.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” prodded Melissa, “let’s go get some breakfast, and then we’ll tour the grounds, or at least the highlights. You’re welcome to join us if you want, Sandy.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Sandy, “just give me a second to put shoes on.” She disappeared into her room, and reappeared a moment later wearing tan wedge heels which (unsurprisingly to Stacy) were also around five inches high. “Okay, good to go.”

They went down to breakfast together, which was not very crowded, but it was delicious. Afterwards, Sandy excused herself, and Melissa took Stacy through the grounds: there was quite a lot to see. They went by the full gym, huge pool, and various athletic facilities, and did a quick walk through part of the gardens. Along the way, Melissa pointed out the various high-tech features of the facility, as well as some lower-tech attention to detail, such as the fact that all the walkways were designed to be easily walkable in heels, meaning there were no unstable or uneven surfaces along the walking areas, and you could literally walk almost everywhere on the grounds in stilettos. Stacy was sure she would have appreciated that fact more, if she had not already walked probably close to a mile that morning: the Manor House grounds were huge, and Melissa was eager to point out all the great things which were there. Eventually, though, they made their way back to the main residence, where Stacy was thrilled to collapse onto one of the comfortable chairs in the lobby.

“Well, that concludes the tour,” said Melissa, “what did you think?”

“This place is huge,” blurted out Stacy, you need a shuttle to get from one end to the other.”

“Oh, it just feels larger because there aren’t as many people out and about on a Saturday morning. Normally, when there are more people walking around, it doesn’t feel so large. Though,” she added, “I’ve never felt cramped here, so there is plenty of space for everyone.”

Stacy reflected on that for a moment: they had, in fact, not seen many women around while walking around. Of the ones they did see, most were engaged in various sorts of morning exercise routines, either using the facilities or just out walking. The ones that were walking were in heels, of course; Stacy wondered if that might have just been another exercise program, though, in fitting with the rules for the house. Whatever the case, the grounds were gorgeous, and Stacy couldn’t help but imagine herself living there, engaging in the various activities.

“So,” said Melissa, rising, “I’ll take you to your car now. You can let me know your decision whenever you want, although we ask that you decide something within a week or two, so we can make arrangements. We don’t offer relocation assistance, but the facilities are fully furnished, so you would just need to bring clothing and personal effects. That’s pretty much it; we’ll just wait to hear from you.”

“Thank you,” said Stacy, following Melissa out the front of the building and toward the parking structure, “it’s a big decision, and I’ll probably want to sleep on it... but just in case I don’t,” she added with a smile, “be sure to check your messages today.”

Chapter 6: Epilogue

Stacy had, in fact, taken up the offer that day, and was moved in by the next Monday. She worked out a deal with her landlord to take her furniture and kitchen stuff in exchange for refunding Stacy her entire security deposit; Stacy figured she might be able to make a bit more money selling everything, but just wanted to leave the whole place behind, and have a little spending money for her new living situation. She had even remembered to write a check for 30% of the refunded money to Manor House, which she gave to Melissa the day she received the refund from her landlord. It did seem a pretty small price to pay for her new place.

As for her room, she was assigned a room with Sandy, which suited both of them just fine. Sandy apologized for deceiving her about Bret, but said it was more Jane’s idea, and Mr. Song just went along with it; Stacy forgave her, and they became good friends. Stacy also had some luck landing a few acting roles in the next couple of months: it turned out a few of the girls at Manor House had connections in the industry, and could at least get her foot in a few doors. Stacy also found that a connection to Manor House actually had some weight in several potential employment circles: apparently Manor House had a reputation for housing women who worked hard, were friendly, and stayed clean, and these qualities were not all that common in the acting space. As a result, Stacy found herself landing a few gigs, and getting referrals. She still hadn’t made it big, but she was making enough to expand her wardrobe quite a bit while also starting to save money, which was a huge step.

She’d also made a lot more friends, both on her own and through Sandy and her friends. Between meals, classes on the facilities, and just running into people, she felt like she personally knew most of the women at Manor House. There were actually a pretty wide range of classes offered, from aerobics to dancing to vocational training, and Stacy made it a point to take as many as she could. She even saw Bret from time to time attending classes, and socialized whenever the opportunity arose.

Speaking of Mr. Song, he had gone clubbing with them a few more times in the several months that Stacy had lived at Manor House, both with Sandy and company, and with other girls. Somehow, on each occasion, Stacy found the time to arrange some down-time alone in the booth with Bret, and solicit leg rubs, which he was happy to oblige with. Not that she needed them as much, though; she found that after a month, like the other girls, she had no problem going all evening in her shoes dancing the night away. She did, though, still like to spend some private time with Bret, and he seemed to enjoy her company.

The first couple of weeks were pretty tough on her feet, of course, but after that it sorta became second nature, her body adjusted, and she didn’t really even think much about wearing heels all day any more. She’d even borrowed Susan’s locking boots one night, after she realized they wore the same size shoes, and tried going out in them (with the keys in her purse, of course). Sandy was right: they weren’t that hard to wear all night after living in Manor House for a while, and they were a heck of a conversation starter, she just didn’t get much out of doing it herself. She politely declined Susan’s offer to hold the keys next time she borrowed them, but had held the keys for the locks when Susan had worn them out the next time, with the instruction to only give them to the man Susan went home with, if that situation arose again; Stacy never did find out if she wore them all night, as Susan refused to, as she put it, “knock boots and tell.”

It turned out, also, that Mr. Song hosted business events at his house from time to time, and during the events there were lots of random people around, all presumably high-powered executives or other influential people. Many were married, but the few that weren’t (and a few that were) spent more than a little attention on the residents of the house, who were invited to socialize with them during the non-meeting times at their own discretion. Nothing serious ever came of the meeting for Stacy (yet, anyway), but she knew of a couple of women who had started relationships as a result, and had moved on from Manor House to move in with their new men. They were always welcome to return, of course, if the relationships didn’t work out, but Stacy always hoped for the girls’ sakes that they would.

She also figured out, after some candid conversations and experimentation, that Manor House was also known in certain social circles, with positive benefits. It turns out producers and casting directors were not the only people interested in women who were fit, friendly, clean and sober, generally attractive and generally personable. Add in the whole “wearing gratuitously high heels comfortably” thing, which seemed to usually appeal to most men and specific men in particular more so, and you had a recipe for instant-interest from many men (and some women) who were “in the know.” Stacy also hadn’t yet found Mr. Right through this venue, but she knew of a few ex-residents who had, and also wished them well in their relationships.

The reputation was not without risks, though, as Stacy also was made aware. The reason there was a separate legal organization running the residency program was primarily for liability: Mr. Song was very cautious (on the advice of his legal team) about exposing himself to personal liability. Along the same lines, early-on Melissa confided that there was a small but constant fear among the people running the organization that at some point, there would be negative press about Manor House (perhaps a feminist outcry, or something), and if the fervor got loud enough, Mr. Song would need to terminate the program, and evict all the residents. The worry among the residents was low, but still, there was an unspoken rule to be careful who you talked to about Manor House, lest it draw too much unwanted attention, and all the residents were aware of it. It wasn’t something Stacy really thought about much, but it did go a long way to explaining why Manor House was not more widely known about, in general.

Stacy met many interesting residents at Manor House, each with their own particular circumstances and story to tell. Stacy was particularly struck by one, an older woman, probably in her fifties, who she recognized as a successful and fairly well-known writer of adult fiction. Stacy knew she must have plenty of money through her writing, and inquired as to why she chose to continue living at Manor House, even when she could afford to live wherever and however she wanted. “Look around,” she remembered the woman had told her, with a knowing smile, “sure, maybe I could buy all this for myself somewhere else, but all I’d get is a lot of personal hassle and stress, and I’d lose interacting with all the great people here. Why would I want to do that? I don’t have kids, and I’m divorced and not looking to get re-married; I see no reason to want to leave. Sure, I have plenty of money saved up for when I can’t stay here any longer, but until that time, put yourself in my shoes: why would I ever want to leave?” It was an interesting perspective, Stacy thought, and one which she found herself coming back to reflect on from time to time.

Stacy even found the time, about a year after she first came to Manor House, to pay a visit to her old haunt, the club where she had worked upon coming to LA originally. She was intending just to observe for nostalgia, but a couple of the girls she knew were even still working there, and they took her back stage to catch up. At first they fawned on how grown up and successful Stacy looked; she hadn’t really noticed any change in herself, but upon reflection, her look was much more adult and sophisticated than when she had worked there, from her designer stilettos to the matching outfit. Despite the clothes, though, she quickly reverted to her old self around the other girls, and ended up talking with them for hours between shifts, mainly about the life there, her acting and tips to break into it, that sort of thing. Towards the end of the night, one of the younger girls who Stacy didn’t know took her aside, and confided that she was feeling a little pressured to indulge customers “other” needs so that she could continue to make rent, and stay in LA, and wondered if Stacy had ever been in that situation, and/or had any advice. Stacy looked her over, young and uncertain as she was, drew her in close, and said, “Let me ask you something ... have you ever heard of Manor House?”

The End

[Tech]

But we didnt say YES either... Not sure why you would think that if somebody has not seen it, then that means they agree to it... We dont have eyes everywhere, and if you need to ask any of us something, you should know by now to ask us directly, not tucked away in a corner of the website with a document so long, were just never going to get the time to read it. Does this contain anything CD/TV/Fetish/Kink?

[Puffer]

But we didnt say YES either... Not sure why you would think that if somebody has not seen it, then that means they agree to it... We dont have eyes everywhere, and if you need to ask any of us something, you should know by now to ask us directly, not tucked away in a corner of the website with a document so long, were just never going to get the time to read it.

Does this contain anything CD/TV/Fetish/Kink?

I can't win, can I?

You're quick enough to pounce when something irks you (as now), but at the same time tell me that my previous posting seeking 'clearance' was not prominent enough to have your attention! And I think it quite reasonable to take the mods' silence for more than a fortnight as acquiescence.

I'm neither expecting nor asking you to read what has just been posted; it is no more than a repetition of the original multi-part posting, warts and all. That passed muster, so this can too.

I now wonder why I bothered to do the original author (and members in general) a favour by tidying-up the story. But I hope a few find it helpful.

Now ... where did I put my copy of War and Peace?

[Tech]

So, how does us not seeing it mean we agree with it or approve?

So what your saying is, were damned if we do spot it, and damned if we dont, that pretty much sounds like the path you have taken...

You do realise that we have lives too, and jobs, and seriously dont have the time to read something this lengthy...

I often skip over hundreds of posts without even looking at them if I'm busy, like working to pay the bills... (I get them all by email)

The ONLY way to ask us if something is ok, is to do exactly that, ask one of us, directly. This is almost as bad as those people who put messages on facebook for their friends, then chew their ear off if they didnt see it, yet they had their email/phone number the whole time...

If you have a question, be direct, its the ONLY way to ask anybody, anything, ever...

It was just pure chance that I spotted the email post that said

As the moderators have not said 'no' to my offer to re-post Sigmabody's story

, and had to dive into the deleted items to recheck what I had just deleted...

So no, I'm not "quick enough to pounce when something irks me", far from it, it doesnt "irk" me at all, but peoples indirect approach in expecting others to respond to the most indirect communications is bonkers...

You wouldnt leave a note for a friend in a store you knew they go to often, so why do it to us?

The original did not pass any test or approval, it just hasnt been read because of the extreme length of it, hence my asking you if it contained any of that content, which is without an answer as yet??

[Puffer]

... The original did not pass any test or approval, it just hasnt been read because of the extreme length of it, hence my asking you if it contained any of that content, which is without an answer as yet??

In my honest opinion, the answer is 'no' - unless you consider a 'requirement' for young ladies to wear heels regularly to be either fetish or kinky. But, if you do, then many stories here would be caught. I'm sure that the author will comment if he thinks fit.