The Wilkerson InstituteChapter 3: Wednesday free porn video

I awoke to a warm, comfy, lived-together feeling that told me I wasn’t alone. Or maybe it was the arm draped over my waist. But why? I rolled towards the center of the bed and slowly raised a single bleary eyelid. I was right. I wasn’t alone. I should have been a detective.

It was a she, a brunette with a young face. She was propped up on one elbow, facing me. Something from last night bubbled to the surface. Muttering softly, I murmured “You’re ... you’re...”

“Mary,” she said brightly. Good morning, Mr. deFrame!”

“Mary, yeah right, Mary,” I muttered blankly.

“Uh, huh. Last night you told me to come back after tucking in Maggie? You said you might be asleep? Don’t you remember?”

Beneath my breath I gave a quiet, “Oh, shit!” which caused the young face to explode in laughter. It all came back to me now. Opening the second eye, I brought my free hand up and rubbed my face. “Yeah, well, good morning to you, too.” Mary continued to laugh.

“I hope I didn’t snore,” I said. “My second wife used to complain I snored.”

“Not by my account. You were dead by the time I got back. What became of number two?”

“Took up with a bodybuilder who doesn’t snore.”

“A bodybuilder, huh?”

“Yeah. Who immediately built a yuppie gym. From what I’ve seen, his monthly income exactly matches my alimony check.”

Mary flopped back on the bed and laughed uproariously at this. Somehow the humor was lost on me. I freed the arm underneath me and used both hands to rub the sleep from my eyes. My vision now clearer, if almost certainly bloodshot, I draped my upper arm across her waist. “What time is it, anyway?” I asked.

Mary pointed to a large clock at the foot of the bed. “Mickey’s big hand...”

“Oh, shut up,” I responded. I looked at the clock. It really was a Mickey Mouse clock, an antique from the Forties. Mickey’s big hand was half past the seven, and his little hand was on the six. Staring, I stupidly said “Oh, shit,” again.

What little control she had was lost completely. Mary went into convulsions of laughter, until the tears came out. A bright laughter, which made her face radiate her beauty. Beautiful pearly teeth showed through the widespread and grinning lips. Good men would kill to see that smile.

Finally, still shaking with mirth, she rolled onto her side again, facing me. My arm was still draped around her waist, and Mary brought her arm between us. Then I felt her hand slowly move under the covers, tracing a line down my chest. It lingered a moment at my navel and then moved lower.

“Last night you said something might come up in the morning. Anything coming to mind?” she asked. Her fingers swirled around my flaccid dick.

Quite a few things were coming to mind, none of them speakable in polite society. Her ministrations brought me roaring to life, my cock almost immediately expanding to fill and then overflow her small hand. I snuggled closer to her and moved my head into the hollow of her neck, near her shoulder. Silently I began to lick and nibble the tender flesh. I gave up smoking twenty years ago, but my morning breath is too much inflict on anyone’s lips.

A slight shudder went down the girl’s spine, and the gentle strokes she was giving my prick became less gentle. Shifting slightly, I slid my lower arm under her neck and began rubbing her back. My free arm I used to stroke the whole of her ass and thigh. I didn’t stop nibbling her neck and throat, but even without looking, I could tell she was still wearing the skimpy teddy I had liked the night before. I carefully brought a knee up into her crotch and began rubbing it against her pubis. I could feel the satiny curls as I pressed the catch into her pudenda.

After about five or ten minutes of increasingly heated fondling, I remembered another thing I liked about the teddy. The thin ‘spaghetti’ straps (Spaghetti, hell, more like angel hair pasta!) were easily pulled down to expose pleasingly rounded breasts. I brought my hand up and pulled the strap down and off her shoulder. Moving lower, my lips and teeth never stopping their work, I soon had her soft nipples between my lips, hardening and extending beneath the kisses. In so doing, we shifted slightly, and Mary brought her second hand down to my crotch. Pulling her free hand loose, she pulled it up and out of the strap, and then thrust it down to my cock again. Now both hands were frantically pulling and rubbing my erection.

Continuing to suck the exposed breast, I gently pushed Mary onto her back and then pulled the other strap down. I concentrated on this heretofore underutilized asset and Mary pulled this arm free as well. By now she was moaning quietly and whimpering into my ear. Moving my leg out of the way, I reached down and roughly tugged the snap crotch open and pulled the fabric up. Now she was only wearing the teddy around the waist. I put my hand in her crotch. Using my forefinger and ring finger to spread her cleft, I inserted my middle finger between her pussy lips. Her clitoris throbbed to my touch. This woman was READY!

By now, Mary was no longer simply moaning beneath me. Now she thrashed beneath me. Her back arching, her legs spasming under the covers, she was begging and pleading between her gasps of breath, “Please, fuck me! ... Put it in! ... Oh, come on! ... Just fuck me, now!”

Nothing doing. Her hands had left my dick and she had thrown her arms behind her head. Although my cock couldn’t have softened with a sledgehammer, I retaliated by continuing to inflict foreplay upon her for several more minutes. Then she came, massively, her cunt twitching around my fingers, gasping and panting, her legs moving convulsively, as she screamed out her joy. I decided to let up on her. I lifted my head from her saliva-soaked breasts and pulled my finger from her twat, resting my hand on her stomach. Shortly thereafter. Mary sagged back into the bedding and her frantic breathing calmed.

Moving her hands beneath the covers, she said “You don’t get off that easy.” Grabbing my erection with one hand and reaching down to cup my balls with the other, she continued “Now get on top and fuck me, right now.” She gave a slight but firm squeeze to my nuts and convinced me who was really in charge. Mary spread her legs wide and continued to hold me as I positioned myself over her. She guided my straining cock within her.

As I rapidly pistoned the girl’s twat, she began to loudly moan and cry again. I remember now thinking about the old joke about the fellow who complained that the guys at the office had gotten him a sweater for his birthday. Last year they had gotten him a moaner and groaner. My foreplay had worked me up as well. I didn’t last long before I gave a last fierce thrust and slumped onto her, my cock twitching and pulsing, spending itself in her spasming pussy. I lay there several moments before, gasping, I rolled off her.

“Wow! What time is it, anyway?” I looked down at Mickey. “Oh, SHIT!” I yelled. “I’m going to be late.” I scrambled out of the covers. “I’ve got an appointment with Wilkerson in thirty minutes! I’ll never make it!”

Mary scrambled out of bed and pushed me into the bathroom. “Yes, you will. Now go take a shower and shave. Go! Go!”

I was less sanguine about bathing, shaving, dressing, and getting down to the restaurant before nine. Normally, no matter what, come death or dismemberment, it takes me about forty-five minutes to come alive. Well, granted, Mary had definitely awakened me, but still. I’d never get to eat, and these girls had me famished!

Still, by the time I got out of the bath and back into the bedroom, Mary had things well in hand. She had stripped off the teddy and had slipped on the robe and heels again. In addition, she had been into the kitchenette and made me a cup of coffee. It was instant, but I didn’t care. I sipped it gingerly while I stared at her body, pleasantly outlined under the sheer robe, until she smiled and pushed me to the closet. “Come on, knock it off and get dressed!” she laughed.

Just then there was a knock on the door. “Hurry up! Breakfast’s here,” said Mary as she headed for the door. I dressed rapidly in a white dress shirt, gray tie, and blue suit. I figured this was an important meeting and wanted to look like more than just a middle-aged slouch. Slipping on socks and black Oxfords, I walked out to the living room. No hot breakfast, but several types of juice and buns, and real coffee greeted me. Mary was moving them from a tray onto the table.

“Sit! Eat!” she commanded. A very demanding wench. I sat. I ate. Mary came around and wrapped a napkin around my neck.

Pouring herself some OJ, the girl sat down next to me. Her movements had loosened the robe and I had a clear view of one nice breast. I glanced at my watch and saw I had a few minutes leeway. Reaching over with one hand, I untied the robe, and it fell away from her. Taking the jelly donut from her hand, I gently squeezed the jelly onto her nipples. “Eat the jelly,” I said. Two can play this game, I thought.

Smiling, Mary said “Don’t forget your appointment.” Then she set down the donut. Cupping her breasts, she leaned her head down and began to lick the upper curve of her lovely tits. She shifted in her chair to face me and spread her legs wide. The thin hair came apart to reveal the wet pinkness within. Her nipples hardened beneath her caresses, and I could see her clit begin to expand and throb. Mary applied herself to the cleanup with a vengeance. By the time I was finishing my repast, her breasts were squeaky clean. Now one hand had moved between her legs and was vigorously fingering her clitoris. The other lifted a breast to her lips, which had the entire nipple in their gentle grasp.

My time was up. I threw down my napkin and reached over to her free breast, I clamped my fingers on the nipple and roughly pinched and pulled it. Mary gasped and moaned. She stopped sucking her tit and arched backward in her chair. The now freed hand raced to her crotch, and all four fingers snaked their way up her cunt. Fingerfucking herself, she screamed out her orgasm. I stood and bent down to kiss her jelly crusted lips, then left.

I arrived at Wilkerson’s office just as the clock struck the hour. A very pretty secretary mentioned she wasn’t sure I was going to be on time and pushed a buzzer on her desk. “Mr. Wilkerson? Mr. deFrame is here,” she announced.

A tinny voice said “Bring him in please, Becky. Thank you.”

Becky stood to escort me into the inner sanctum. I began to suspect that Wilkerson went fishing in the secretarial pool. A tall brunette, Becky was dressed in the same uniform as the other staff girls were, but this seemed considerably more abbreviated than the others. The skirt was damn near microscopic, highlighting legs that just didn’t seem to stop, and the jacket only accentuated a most impressive superstructure. I could easily see the girl working in a variety of positions under her boss.

“Ah, Mr. deFrame, welcome! I hope you’ve been enjoying your stay with us.”

Turning to the voice, I saw a small, thin, man, perhaps late fifties, early sixties, coming around from behind a mahogany desk. He was dressed in a gray suit, and I was glad I had dressed the part. The room was large, with dark walnut paneling, bookshelves lining one side, richly carpeted in a burgundy plush, and with several matching leather upholstered armchairs facing the desk. A large set of doors opened onto a small courtyard.

“I’m Jonathan Wilkerson,” Wilkerson said, shaking my hand. A good, firm grip. He waved me towards the chair near me. “Please sit. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to greet you earlier in your stay, but I was away on business. Can I get you something to drink?”

“No thank you. It’s a bit early for me.”

“Well, then some coffee perhaps?”

“That would be nice,” I said.

Wilkerson pushed a button on his phone. “Becky, two coffees, please.” He released the button. “Now, has your stay been pleasant?”

Sitting, I said “Thank you. Yes, it has. Most delightful, in fact. Not quite what I was expecting.”

“Oh?” he said. Now that I had a chance to get a better look, I’d have to say sixty or sixty-one. Quite a few wrinkles to the face and extremely advanced male pattern baldness. But also in good shape, quite healthy. Who knows, maybe he really could give Becky a run for her money. “What were you expecting?” he asked with a curious smile.

“Uh, well, I’m not really sure. But certainly not this.” I waved my hands at the surroundings and we both laughed. “I must admit that I find your whole operation quite fascinating.”

Wilkerson looked around and smiled. “Yes, it is rather nice, if I do say so myself. The ladies have been seeing to all your needs? You’ve gotten around to see the grounds?”

“Oh, my, yes. They’ve been most, er, attentive. And they’ve shown me all over.” Somehow, even as I said this, I felt foolish, and my face grow red. But Wilkerson paid no attention and continued.

Becky brought in the coffees, setting one before each of us. I watched appreciatively as she bent to serve us, then left.

“Excellent. You must have some questions. Everyone does.”

“Well, now that you mention it, why the physical? How many coronaries do these girls cause, anyway?”

Wilkerson stared at me for a second, then gave a hearty laugh. “Well, I must admit, I’m not easily surprised, but that did it.” He laughed some more. “Most men ask me something quite different.” Chuckling, he continued “Blood work. Blood tests. Let’s just say that an environment like ours gives an excellent field for certain communicable diseases. We need to protect both our guests and staff.” He raised his eyebrows knowingly.

The clap, or worse. So, before somebody could get his hands on the babes, he had to pass Henson first. I smiled in return. “Of course. So, what is the most common question raised?”

Wilkerson smiled “Why, ‘Where do you find all these beautiful women?’, of course.”

“And?”

Wilkerson brought his hands to his face. Making a steeple of his forefingers, he paused for a moment before continuing, “My typical answer is that I raise them in the basement, like mushrooms. But, of course, that’s not really true, you know. Without going into the details, let me ask you if you have any idea of the number of teenage female runaways each year in the States? No? Well, more than a few thousand, escaping sometimes painfully hard and difficult lives. I have agents in most major cities, constantly on the lookout for potential recruits.”

I was shocked! “Really? I had no idea!”

“Yes. It’s quite unfortunate, actually. Often fleeing drunken or abusive, or worse, parents. They come to the big city thinking things can’t be any worse. And of course, they almost always are, sometimes quite shockingly. Surely you realize the levels of drug use, of prostitution, of crime inflicted on these very young and often very innocent children.” I nodded my understanding. “Well, my agents are always watching for the prettiest. They look for girls who have seen enough hard times to be interested in a change, but not sunk so low to be unsalvageable by our resources. They select those who would seem to be most attracted to the lifestyle we offer and send them on to us down here.”

Still,” he continued, “Often they have suffered in their previous lives. I request that under no circumstances, you ask a young lady about her life before coming here. If she volunteers it, that’s different. But no ’What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?’ Okay?”

“Understood, but I would think some would simply come for the food and money, and then try to escape or get out,” I commented.

“Oh, certainly some do. But they don’t have to escape. They aren’t locked in or anything. And they can catch a bus after a thirty-minute walk! Let me ask you a question. Have any of the young ladies you’ve met been anything but eager? Enthusiastic? Happy?”

To be honest, no. I admitted so.

“Consider from the child’s viewpoint. They arrive here hungry, tired, cold, broke, lonely. Junkies and pimps have been after them from the time they left home. They’ve been robbed, beaten, perhaps raped. We offer them a full belly, a warm place to sleep, clean clothes, friends their own age, fun in the sun even. Whatever they were running from, they won’t be hurt by it here. We care for them and protect them. We offer education and a potential future. Is it all that amazing that the vast majority of the girls stay here, and gladly?”

“Not when you put it that way, I suppose,” I said. “The girls I’ve met do seem quite happy.”

“Generally, they are. The organization mirrors the leader. I truly care for them. They know it. Everything done here helps the girls, as well as provides a valuable and desired service for our clientele. They arrive here not quite innocent, but ignorant and often shamefully educated. They all graduate with a GED, and often extensive firsthand training in other fields. In addition, we ensure they blossom into their fullest potential. In return, we provide room and board, a modest stipend for spending money, and the opportunity to start their lives over, in the company of a wealthy and caring patron.”

“You sound quite convincing,” I said. “Where do I enlist?”

Wilkerson leaned back and laughed again. “I suppose I deserved that. I guess I do go on a bit.”

“No problem,” I said smiling. “But I’m curious. What do I do? Just pick one? That hardly seems like it would generate the guaranteed perfect mate I was promised.”

Wilkerson shook his head at me. “Not hardly. We use more precise methods than that.” He stood and came around the desk. “Why don’t you come over here?” he asked, indicating a large leather recliner. He pushed a button on the wall, and a section of walnut paneling whirred away. A large screen was hidden beneath. Simultaneously, a projector dropped from a recess in the ceiling. This was like a James Bond flick! I put down my empty coffee cup and walked over. The coffee had a funny taste to it, but I thought that Becky just made a lousy cup of coffee. This was not a girl to fire over coffee.

“Have a seat, Mr. deFrame. I want to show you a movie about the Wilkerson Institute. This should answer any final questions, and then we can get down to business.”

I shrugged my shoulders and sat. I heard Wilkerson go back and sit behind his desk. The drapes closed electrically, and the lights dimmed, and then the movie started. It was odd at first. A glowing ball seemed to move around the screen, then it expanded to show two beautiful young women walking around the gardens. I figure the film lasted maybe thirty or forty minutes. A succession of young girls, always in pairs, showed the grounds and talked about their interests. In some cases, those interests and desires were rather explicit, if not downright kinky. Finally, the film ended.

Wilkerson moved behind me, and the lights came on again. The room returned to the way it was at first. “Now, Mr. deFrame, why don’t you come back over here.” He gestured at my original chair and held out another cup of coffee.

I hopped out of the chair, only to be greeted by a wave of nausea. Staggering slightly, I grabbed the arm of the chair and swayed for a moment. The next thing I knew, Wilkerson was at my side, taking my arm. “Come along. Now sit.” He guided me into an armchair. Handing me the coffee, he said “Now drink. This will help counteract the aftereffects.” Huh? Catching my breath, I sipped the coffee. I almost spit it out it was so bitter. “No! Drink it all!” he commanded.

I finished the cup and felt my head beginning to clear. I shook my head to clear the last cobwebs, and saw Wilkerson move to his desk and touch the intercom button on his phone. “Becky? Have Tina and Louise report to my office. Thank you.”

“What aftereffects?” I demanded. “What happened?” I was quite confused.

Wilkerson came back and sat in the armchair next to me. Pursing his lips, he obliquely said “Let me explain. Have you ever heard of biometric analysis? No? Well, it’s a technique pioneered in the advertising field.”

“You’ve seen the ads where a pretty girl is holding up or using some product? Well, the gentlemen on Madison Avenue were worried that people were watching the girl, not the product. They pay to have you watch the product. So, some bright fellow figured out a way to measure exactly what the watcher was really watching!” He pointed over at the chair I had watched the movie from. “Specifically, a low power infrared laser, hidden in the wall, tracks the motion of your eyeball. Your iris actually. Anyway, it can follow exactly what you are looking at on the screen. A computer program then can tell us whether it’s the girl or the drain cleaner she’s carrying. Follow me so far?”

Nodding slowly, I said “Roughly. But there’s no product.”

“Really? Isn’t there? In our case, the girls themselves are the product, so to speak. Other sensors are also used, as well.”

I just stared at Wilkerson for a moment. “You’d better run this by me again. I’m still not clear on this.”

Wilkerson smiled and continued, “Okay. Back to the advertising example. By measuring where your eyes are aimed, we can tell if you’re looking at the drain cleaner or the blonde holding it. The computer can tell, quite accurately, in fact, whether your eyes are on the girl’s legs, her face, her breasts, or instead where we want it, on the label of the bottle. Now, apply it to the problem before us. How do we determine the precise type of girl needed to meet your needs?”

“As you may have noted, the movie contained scenes, side by side comparisons of two young ladies. In our case, the computer determines which you prefer. Your eye movements are completely involuntary, they cannot lie. Even if you tell me you prefer blondes for example, if you constantly watch the redheads, I’ll know that is your true preference.”

“Hmmph,” I said. “I could tell you all of that.”

“Maybe yes, maybe no. In any case, it is extremely unlikely you will tell me all the details of your sexual preferences. These are the most private aspects of your life, and you’d never tell them to a stranger. That’s why we use the other sensors, and why some of the sequences seemed more graphic than others.”

“What other sensors?” I asked.

“That chair is probably the most expensive in the complex,” said Wilkerson, pointing towards the viewing chair. “Buried beneath its surface are monitors for heart rate, respiration rate, even galvanic skin response. When you see a pretty girl, you breathe faster, your pulse increases, even your skin conductivity changes. These effects are monitored, recorded, and analyzed by a master computer.”

“How so?”

“Well consider. We show a picture with two women, one blonde, the other brunette, very similar except for hair color. Your eyes stay on the brunette 10% more than on the blonde. As a first approximation, you are 10% more interested in brunettes. Now, examine the next step. Again, a blonde and a brunette, but this time the blonde is considerably more buxom than the brunette. Now you watch the blonde 20% more than the brunette. We can, as a second approximation, state that you would have preferred a buxom brunette 30% more than a blonde. And so forth.”

“Sounds rather complicated.”

“Not really,” said Wilkerson, “But the computations are rather lengthy and time consuming. Ultimately it breaks down to N linear equations in N variables.”

Just then, the intercom buzzed. Becky spoke, her voice now sounding tinny “Mr. Wilkerson? Tina and Louise are here. Should I send them in?”

“Not yet. Have them wait out there until I call.”

“Yes, sir.”

The interlude had reminded me of what had happened after I stood up. “So? What’s with the really lousy coffee? You drug me? Or something?”

“Actually, yes.” Wilkerson replied calmly, “It’s necessary for the subject to be completely relaxed prior to the analysis. Your first cup of coffee was laced with a tiny amount of a mild relaxant, the second with an antidote. In most cases, you’d never even notice. A certain percentage, and I must place you in this category, will experience some dizziness, weakness, a touch of low blood pressure.”

“So, let me get this straight,” I said, angrily. “You slipped me a Mickey Finn and strapped me into a super lie detector?”

“Please, calm yourself,” said Wilkerson, still smiling. “Trust me when I say, no harm has been done. The effects wear off almost immediately. And in no other way can we so rapidly determine the perfect woman for you.” He stood and moved to a wet bar. “Something to drink? Juice? Real coffee? Water? I don’t recommend any alcohol just yet, but you can indulge later, if you wish.”

“Water. Just water.”

“Certainly.” Wilkerson fished ice cubes from a small icemaker and filled a glass from the tap. He returned and handed it to me, then went around his desk and sat down. I saw that despite the conservative look of the mahogany desk, it had a glass screen built into the top. Words from beneath glowed on what appeared to be a computer monitor.

“The results justify the means, so to speak. Yes...,” he said, looking down at the screen. “Hmmm. Very interesting. We not only have a match, but a very high-rated match at that.”

“Oh? Just what does your gizmo tell you about me?” I was beginning to feel myself again, and my displeasure was dissipating.

Looking down at the screen, Wilkerson replied “Hmm, well, you actually do prefer brunettes. Or perhaps auburn hair is more accurate. Short girls, very busty, nice legs, nice rear end, generally a voluptuarian, in fact. Close enough, so far?” he asked, looking up at me.

I was stunned. I looked over at the chair. “That thing told you all that?” I sputtered.

“All that and more.”

“Like what?”

“Let’s see. You enjoy straight and oral sex. Anal sex to a lesser extent, probably needing the woman to initiate it. No major fetishes. Standard male fantasies. You prefer a girl to wear rather racy underwear, if she wears any, like to see a fair bit of leg and cleavage, short skirts, low cut tops, that sort of thing.” My face began to heat and turn red. “You’re not into S&M, no whips and chains, no golden showers or such. Somewhat interested in B&D, but within fairly conventional paths. Furthermore,...”

“That’s enough,” I broke in. “I’m convinced.”

“Er, yes, quite,” said Wilkerson, somewhat embarrassed.

“So, how do you find this dream girl?” I asked.

“Simplicity itself. Each of the young ladies has had one or more sessions much as you just finished. The computer simply links your profile up with the one that matches it most closely.”

“Sort of like computer dating.”

“Similar. But considerably more precise than questionnaires, as the answers are involuntary and invariably true. In addition, our investment in testing equipment and computers is considerably higher than the total investment in most computer dating services. Also, we maintain a high level of, er, inventory, so to speak. You get what you pay for.”

“And you found a match?” I asked excitedly.

“Oh, my, yes indeed. Quite a match, too. The computer rates these things on a scale of 1 to 100. Generally, anything less than 50 or 60 is doomed from the start. I refuse to accept anything less than 75 to 80 when placing a young lady with a client. The higher the rating, the more likely a long lasting, mutually beneficial match will be made.”

“And?”

“Well, the computer has spit out a match of 95 per cent compatibility. Really quite high. At this level, even marriage is not unheard of.”

“So, call her in. When can I see her?”

Wilkerson smiled. “Patience, Mr. deFrame, patience. Tomorrow night, say eight, meet me in the restaurant. I’ll introduce you. You must understand, I must talk to the young lady. She must consent, of course.” He touched the intercom button. “Becky, please bring in Tina and Louise.” The interview seemed to be winding down.

We continued talking for a few moments, then the paneled door opened, and the delectable Becky brought in two young women. I stared at them a second before rising. They were quite attractive.

“Please, Mr. deFrame, stay seated,” said Wilkerson. “I asked Becky to get Tina and Louise to take you back to your room, and to stay with you until any traces of queasiness have passed.”

“Who’s who?” I asked, staring at them. Tina and Louise were identical twins, medium height, long dark blonde hair, very buxom. Large frames but carried most delightfully. They wore the school uniforms, the long, sheer, opaque gowns, light green, with matching high heels.

“You know, I’m not sure. I can never tell. Which one of you is Tina?” he asked, turning to the duo. The girl on the left raised her hand and waved her fingers at me, smiling. “Then you must be Louise?” he finished. In turn Louise waved fingers at me. To me he said, “Unfortunately, neither Tina nor Louise speaks. But they compensate in other ways. Any final questions before I let them take you back?”

I stood and shook his hand. “Not right now. Oh, wait. One just came to mind. What’s with the school uniforms? I mean, I can understand the outfits the receptionists and all wear. But why require the girls to wear uniforms to school? And especially outfits like this?” I asked, gesturing at the gowns.