At least once a week, she visited every sponsor's place of business, met whatever customers might be there, talked with them, taping the conversations. She collected speeding tickets with an old MGA roadster and a new BMW 750 motorcycle, and used them to paper the walls of her apartment. Sally Sue went about her work with a fury, burying a heartbreak that only she knew about. She supported a collection of animals and birds to ease her loneliness.

A cheetah, a huge Airdale dog, a pigmy owl, a red-tailed hawk, a coral snake, and several cats of uncertain origin. She kept them so well fed they never tried to eat each other.

Sally Sue wrapped the commercial two seconds early according to the chronometer she wore instead of the usual tiny woman's watch, and saw that the record had just enough grooves to let her get out of her isolation booth and down to the bar to start some conversation with the patrons. She grabbed the traveling mike and went down the stairway, forcing herself to smile at the admiring whistles of the men.

They had good reason to whistle.

She was tall and sleek, with the blue-black hair long on her back. Her breasts were full, lushly ripened and they bounced as she moved. She walked naturally, with the ease of a deer, and with every step her smoothly-rounded taut ass-cheeks jiggled and the limber muscles of her curvaceous thighs flexed. And by the orders of her employer, she had to exploit her magnificent young body, so she wore a microdress that came barely below the rich swell of her hips, and just above the thrusting nipples of her bosom. The dress was tight and thin, so the tiny buds of her nipples were clearly visible. She wore high heels to enhance the length of her slender, magnificent legs. Her hips, sleek as a sea otter's, swayed as she walked into the cocktail lounge with the transceiver which would put it all on the air.