The plough girl - part three 
By Diana the Valkyrie 
Olga's new job


Mike

She got back at 6am - she'd come straight back from the KittyKat,
and she showed me the $50, "An advance on wages," she said, "I'm
going to get shoes and dresses." She had walked, barefoot, right
across Europe, because her shoes had been made with ploughing in
mind, not long distance walking, and they'd fallen apart on day four.

She explained to me, in the KittyKat there's a broken glass hazard,
so barefoot wasn't practical. So I told her that a pair of shoes
would cost a LOT more than she had available. "Not if I make them
myself."  I measured her feet. 33 centimeters, 13 inches. That
made her shoe size 16 in women's sizes; 15 in men's sizes. So
she wouldn't be able to find any women's shoes, and even a large
enough men's shoe would be hard to find. "So how did you manage in
Novovysoke?" I asked. "Cobblers," she said, "about 30 kilometers
away, there was a cobbler who made shoes especially for plough
girls. But I think I can make my own shoes."

She went out, and came back a few hours later carrying some silky
black material, a couple of square feet of canvas, and half of a
worn-out car tyre. "I got the car tyre for free, the tyre seller
had no use for worn-out tyres."

She borrowed a sharp knife, stood with one foot on the tyre, and
cut around her foot. "Soles," she said. Then she cut a strip from
the tyre, and nailed it to the sole, as a strap for her feet to
go into.  She cut the canvas to go on top, and nailed that to the
sole, and finally finished the shoes with the shiny black stuff. I
have to admit, if you took no notice of the size of the things,
they looked quite feminine, and definitely practical.

After lunch, she got to work on a new dress. This would be a
slinky, sexy black number, a bit like some that she had seen at the
KittyKat, but without straps to hold it up, and a lot shorter in
the skirt. "This is for pussycatting," she said, and I thought,
any man seeing her in her pussycatting outfit is going to be a
pushover. "So what's going to stop the dress from just sliding
down to the ground?" I wondered. "Stiff nipples," she replied,
and I could see how they pushed against the fabric, holding it in
place. "But what if they aren't stiff?" I asked. "In that case,
I've just got thoroughly laid, and I'm naked anyway. I don't know
if you've noticed, but a plough girl is in a nearly permanent state
of sexual arousal, it's our hormones." Yes, I had noticed.

Olga

Mike liked my new dress. I can tell. Men are easy to read, easy to
injure and easy to bed. I picked him up by his armpits and rubbed
him against my breasts, and he liked that even more.

An hour or so later, I made him roll off me while he was still
asleep, and started to get ready for work. Shower, wash hair,
rub dry, plait hair, coil on top of head - the hairdo added
about three inches to my height, and as a bouncette I needed to
look intimidating. Even a bit scary. I wore my light blue dress,
but carried the LBD in a bag, so that I could switch to it for
pussycatting.

I was wearing my new shoes, but I don't think Jim noticed, he was
too wrapped up in looking at my tits. Men! They're the same tits
I had yesterday, but the shoes are new. Maybe I should make myself
a bra, like most of the girls here wear.

I went straight onto door duty, and there was the usual assortment
of drunks, druggies and assorted no-hopers to turn away. I think
word had gotten around, because I didn't get any arguments, except
from one guy who was so bladdered out of his skull that I think I
was doing his liver a favour when I gut-punched him and he spewed
the contents of his stomach all over the pavement - then collapsed
on top of it.

After a few hours of that, when the people wanting entry had slowed
to a trickle, I went into the main dance hall, to offer help to the
other bouncers. They'd also gotten used to me, and were treating
me with a lot more respect than they had when I first started.

I stood tall, and scanned round the hall, looking for possible
candidates for pussycatting. There were a few possibilities, so I
ducked behind the bar and changed into my sleek and slinky LBD. This
wasn't really abandoning my job, because I can still operate wearing
it, if need be.

The likeliest candidate was a guy who couldn't have been much more
than five feet and was the classic 97 pound weakling. I prefer weak
men to strong ones, because they don't hurt themselves trying to
stop me. Lifting a two meter man and rubbing him on my nipples,
often provokes a fight back, I don't really understand why. But
knock off 40 centimeters, and you get a guy who doesn't get into
fights, because they would always end badly.

So I strolled up to Mr 97, and looked down at him. He looked up
at my nipples. I don't think he saw anything higher, so I put my
hand under his butt and lifted him up to my level. "Hi, I'm Olga,"
I shouted.  "Yes, I know," he replied. It looks like I've gotten
a measure of fame, or at least notoriety.



Read the rest of the story at http://www.amysconquest.com