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She crumbles her best friend's resistance.

These were constantly fawning over the publishing mogul, feuding for his undivided attention. Hafnor was comparatively short in stature, certainly shorter than Jennifer, maybe 5 feet 6 inches tall at most. He was in his fifties, with handsome, rugged features and just a hint of grey in his close-cropped hair. Jennifer correctly assumed that the two girls must be recent centerfolds from Bitch Magazine, or one of the other glossy soft porn publications that were part of the ever growing Hafnor publishing empire.

The threesome proceeded to circulate, with the multi-millionaire pausing to converse with a number of the beautiful, well-endowed models, appearing to treat them more like members of his own family, rather than as part-time employees. Eventually, he arrived at Annabel and his face broke into a broad smile, as he caught sight of the ravishing coffee-colored beauty.

"Annabel Brown, isn't it?" Lew greeted, stepping forward and kissing her on the cheek. Lew prided himself on remembering the names of all the glamorous women who worked for his organization.

The curly-haired negress nodded, delightedly. "Uh, huh! Nice to see you again, Mr. Hafnor. Thank you for inviting me to this delightful party. I was wandering when you wanted me for that modeling work on your new BDSM magazine that you offered me, at our recent meeting?"

Lew blinked, as he tried to recollect the event. "Ah, yes! Someone will be getting in touch with you, in a week or two's time, my dear. We already have your phone number, don't we?" Annie nodded. "Oh, and please call me Lew. All I ask, is that you don't get me mixed up with that other guy, and start calling me Hugh. The guy's at least twenty-five years older than I am, and nowhere near as good looking."

Annabel giggled, prettily. "I'll try not to, Lew and thanks! I'm looking forward to working with you on this new, exciting project."

"Anyway, 'Bitch' is now the second best selling men's magazine in the US, next to 'Playboy', shifting almost as many copies as 'Maxim' and 'FHM' combined," the publishing magnate continued, a little pompously. "Soon, we will be number one. 'Bitch' magazine is the only one that still caters for the true, red-blooded all-American male. All the rest have been watered down, thanks to the Women's Liberation movement and the Politically Correct crowd."

Both girls nodded, careful to keep the expressions on their faces neutral.

"Anyway, that's enough of my blowing my own trumpet," Lew continued, with a wide grin on his face. "Who is your lovely young friend, my dear?"

"This is my friend, Jennifer Goodbody!"

He reached out and shook the blue-eyed blonde's hand. "Hi there, Jenny. Are you a glamour model too?"

Jenny reddened and shook her head, vigorously. "N-No not really, Mr. Hafnor, but I was wondering if you might need some extras for one of your upcoming BDSM shoots? It's a subject that has always completely fascinated me."

His eyes widened, imperceptibly and he looked her up and down with renewed interest. "You're a very pretty girl, Jenny, but my models are usually a little more, um, 'well-blessed' up top. You're a little lacking in that department, if you don't mind me saying." He saw the look of disappointment cross the young blonde's face and sighed. "Do you have a number that we can contact you on?" he asked, in a resigned tone.

Jenny's eyes lit up and she nodded, eagerly, then started searching through her clutch purse. "Here's my business card. It's got my cell phone number on it," she said, handing it over.

"Thanks! Someone will get in touch with you, my dear, if a suitable vacancy arises."

"Thank you, Lew," Jenny replied, with a small, bashful smile of gratitude.

November 19th, Barbara Gordon's Apartment, 1:50 am

Barbara squirmed, uncomfortably, in her bed, fully stretching her long lithe legs, as she awoke from a fitful slumber.

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