"Oh, of course, Ma'am! And, let me assure you, absolutely all of our 'Ophelias' will arrive at your door with a minimum of C1 in French and Greek, with a very reasonable additional fee for at least B2 in your choice of Italian or Spanish. Now, if I may show you another... This is one of our most popular models."

The hostess leading her charges, all flashing teeth and flawless red lipstick, quirked an artfully-artless little grin at the two women dawdling behind her. Contrasting their guide's professionally spotless black pencil skirt and starch-crisped collared blouse, the two women were dressed in loose daywear. Expensive, certainly, from the sheen of silk and the plush of cashmere, but designed for a couple who seemed content to know they were, at all times, above the opinions of those who could not on a whim purchase a new car for their midweek getaway to the mountains. 

The shorter of the two, her complexion the glowing, dusky brown of oaken barrels reflecting the last rays of sunset light, leered at the full and sculpted ass of the hostess as she led the pair further across the polished travertine showroom floor. 

The guest smirked at her companion, looking back at the hostess. "I think we already know which is the most popular model... Michelle, was it?"

Michelle, looking over her shoulder in a pose both guests suspected would melt butter in midwinter, simply smiled a seductive little smile that never touched her eyes, and continued walking. 

Her companion, a tall and full-chested woman whose face held the echoes of the patricians of Rome carved into every line, rolled her eyes good-naturedly. 

"Noor, please, you saw the sign," flicking her eyes towards a gleaming bronze plaque with the words 'We Thank Patrons For Not Touching The Staff' inscribed in serifs. 

Noor winked at the statuesque Italian, the little trio now drawing near to another of the dozen or so small, not-quite-identical plinths that dotted the floor. "And I'm not. Calm down, Fran, I won't get us booted."

As they neared the next of the stages, the slight differences that this setup had from the two previous they'd seen were laid bare. In the centre was a rather comfortable-looking chair for one thing, rather than the sculptural stools both previous displays had featured. As before it was occupied with a motionless woman, this time dressed in a fashionable but modest sundress and floppy straw hat. It perched, jaunty but attractive, above a face made up unselfconsciously with muted colours and simple application, amplifying her natural good looks without slipping into the kind of eye-catchingly stunning visions that could be seen on some of the other daises around the room. She was certainly easy on the eyes, but somehow no supermodel. 

Around her neck, short golden chain clasped over the soft flesh above her breastbone and glittering in the sterile limelight aimed at her podium, was a discreet golden choker, the name 'SARAH' etched deeply into the two-inch-wide golden nametag it bore. On her left ankle, locked securely in thin but strong-looking steel wire, was a small but prominent proximity alarm. 

She - or, as the two guests both mused, perhaps 'it' - stared into infinity without the slightest acknowledgement of her visitors.  Like the two slaves Michelle had shown before her, it seemed that Sarah merely existed, breathing slowly and blinking rarely. Her breasts, modestly sized but quite perfectly formed under the linen of her dress, flickered very faintly with the beating of her heart - a little faster than once every two seconds.

There was a word for this: petrified. Turned to stone in all but flesh. 

Stepping elegantly up onto the dais and beginning to prowl possessively around the seated figure, Michelle allowed the faintest trace of a saleswoman's satisfaction into her immaculate features as she slipped into her pitch. 

"This is 'Sarah', our industry-leading and, if I may say, standards-setting byword in all-round performance and public attendance." Michelle ran her manicured fingers across the motionless woman's arm as though stroking a marble bust, with little more than the slight give in 'Sarah's' flesh to prove beyond doubt that this truly was a living human form. 

Michelle continued, seeing Noor and Fran were watching her spiel with amused but interested disdain.

"Unlike most of our models, designed more for in-home use or entertaining guests, our 'Sarahs' are capable of fully passing for real people. Their personality is sculpted to your tastes, of course, but our proprietary methods ensure that their persona is well-rounded, engaging, and charming while deferring to you in every respect."

Michelle bowed her head, very slightly, and continued.

"Their submission is as absolute and unquestioning as any other model, but our Firm and I, myself, personally guarantee that you could instruct your 'Sarah' to strip off its panties in public and hand them to you, and it would ensure that such an action was done in a way that passed for its own idea. 

"Each and every 'Sarah' is also capable of living almost independently, including full driving capacity and a guaranteed active driver's licence, allowing you to store it in an off-site dwelling until summoned."

Michelle flushed, slightly, perhaps imagining the sorts of activities for which two charming owners such as the women to whom she was pitching could do with a 'Sarah'. Noor, her eyes slipping from the central golden choker around the 'Sarah's' neck to the long and stockinged legs of their hostess, shifted where she stood as her thighs pressed very slightly closer, then relaxed

Or, as Noor continued to look over the prim-yet-sultry saleswoman's perfectly sultry bedroom-boardroom eyes, perhaps the 'Michelle' in front of her was simply programmed to look like it was imagining anything at all, before smoothly slipping into the next portion of its pre-written script.

Michelle slipped, smoothly, into the next portion of her script. 

"Whether it be attending a gala as your plus-one or attending lunch with your girlfriends as a visiting guest from out of town, it's a Firm guarantee," winked Michelle at her own amusingly unamusing pun, "that your new 'Sarah' will never be wanting in conversation or when you need to relieve a little tension between rounds of tennis at the club." 

Michelle's winning smile was almost dazzling, and still touched her eyes not at all. Lazily, Fran thought that it didn't matter if 'her' smile was a programmed come-on or not, because she'd have quite a few uses for the 'Michelle's' mouth that required almost no talking whatsoever. Or smiling, for that matter. 

The two guests nodded, turning to each other and discussing quietly amongst themselves. As they looked away from it, the Michelle's expression briefly flattened into the same dully-beautiful doll's visage as the Sarah it had shown to the two prospective Owners. 

The customers turned back, and nodded with privately superior little smiles.

Fran spoke.

"Lovely, Michelle, thank you. We shall add it to our shortlist - my wife enjoys the novelty of it, but I think I'd like something with a little more bedroom specialisation. Please show us a model you think would be suitable?

"Of course, Ma'am", murmured the Michelle, sensing its customers' shifting moods and eliding easily into the desired role. It was a very well-made saleswoman, after all.