Millions of pairs of eyes were focused on the series of tables at the arena in Dallas where the championships were taking place. About a hundred lucky and mostly wealthy women got close-up seats to watch the tiny competitors close up. Those were the ones who'd be talking about contracts afterward. The winner will probably have an employer -- er, Mistress -- before the end of the night.

12 six-inch-tall young men held squeeze bottles of lubricant over their heads, got slicked up, and hoped for the best. It was a grueling event, as the dozen finalists swam into a vagina simulator, lifted themselves into the same simulator using rings attached to a pair of crotchless panties, and ran in quick succession to simulators resembling a head, neck, breasts, front vagina and back vagina (the "anal" competition).

Exhausted, the contestants stood in their outfits and looked up as the gigantic figures of the female judges above them weighed their performances. Their clothes were called outfits, not uniforms, because the organizers designed them to make it easier to ogle the tiny bodies that could soon be filling the vaginas of fortunate women. They were the equivalent of swimsuits in the old female beauty pageants, with shorts that did little more than cover the crotch. Participants were required to perform shirtless. The term "uniform" was reserved for the people that organizers considered real athletes -- girls and women.

The judges started calling out their scores... starting with the 11th runner up. Ryan's heart thumped faster and faster as his name wasn't called. When the first runner up... Jackson somebody from Michigan... was called, Ryan began pumping his fist and jumping into the air. "The National Championship Triathlon Winner... Ryan Quimby Pelletierri!"

Ryan was marched to the podium as a woman narrated the scene on TV. "He stands at the top position, with the other contestants on either side... and now the moment we've all been waiting for.. and there go the shorts! Ryan has ripped off his boxers and is completely naked... the way a toyboy absolutely should be! And see... he likes us ladies!" Ryan self-consciously moved his hands over his crotch but couldn't hide the permanent erection the Goddess of Love had given young men.

Giant cameras pointed down at him. Reporters (all women, of course) began shouting questions at him. Some of the questions sounded like propositions. The Rebalancing of Sexes had thrown women off-balance, making them super-horny and forcing them to take any man who was available to shrink and/or satisfy. But with the National Championships, women again had a hierarchy. They knew which eligible bachelor was on top... and his name was Ryan.

After dealing with the catcalls and whimpers of excited reporters, a pair of women's hands scooped him up an carried him to an office. "Hi, I'm Martha Boronski. I'm your agent. I'm sure your mom told you... I'm going to be representing you to five potential Mistresses... three of whom are ready to sign a deal TONIGHT. They have to put up $11 million just to get into the negotiations. You're going to do well. Every woman in America oooed and ahhed when you sloppy kissed that clitoris!"

Ryan noticed a certain fruity aroma rising from about a foot below where he was being held. "So, um, if you decide not to go pro, let me say that as a successful agent, I can support you very well, maybe not like a billionaire but VERY well..." Ryan couldn't help but notice the heat radiating from Martha's hands. "Thanks, Ms. Boronski," he replied.

"Martha to you," the gigantic attorney cooed. "Maybe MISTRESS Martha..."
Ryan was brought into a room and dropped gently onto a table. He shivered as he realized that the nudity required of men would mean a lifetime of chilliness, anytime he was not close to... or inside... a woman's body. He looked up to see six women seated across the table, looking down at him. Three were flipping their hair and one was licking her lips. Those were the clients. The other three were pretending to maintain disinterest, although Ryan's nose picked up that at least two of them were very interested. Those were the clients' lawyers.

Above his head, Martha bartered with the rich women's lawyers about terms. He looked into the eyes of the women who were competing to make him their sex toy. All three were dressed pretty formally for the ROS era... collared shirts. Ryan suspected that they were minimally clothed or bottomless underneath, because that was the standard at most workplaces and public events, but he couldn't see for the table.

The woman on the left appeared to be in her 50s... her name was Donna. I'm okay with MILFs but that's kind of on the edge, he thought. We'll see how much she offers. In the middle was Jennifer, a woman with dark hair and beige skin who appeared to be in her 40s. She looked a little curvy but very well maintained, as her wealth no doubt permitted.

Then Ryan turned to the woman on the right. Jessica appeared to be in her late thirties, with blonde hair and a round face. Her top was pretty full, and Ryan guessed her to be curvy. Damn, would I like to see the bottom part! he thought.
Ryan picked up bits and pieces of the negotiations from the giantesses above him.

None of the women were offering to make Ryan a solo toy. Instead, he would be something like the quarterback of a team of sextoys, including from four to twelve other men and a couple of dildos. That made Ryan a little sad. Part of him longed for the old days when a man could have a woman to himself. But the new dimorphism between the sexes and the increased birthrates of men to older women, making the sex ratio something like 3 to 1 in his age group, made that unlikely. Wealthier women in particular demanded the right to keep a harem of tiny lovers in their bedroom dollhouses. If Ryan wanted to make the big bucks, he had to play the game.

Once they had whittled down the money issues, Martha whispered to Ryan if he had any other concerns before they chose a winner. She bent her ear down to Ryan and listened to his answer.

Martha reared up and faced the ladies. "My client has one final request. Before he makes a commitment, he'd like to see his future home. Ladies, I need you all to stand up, turn around, and bend over! If you have clothing below the waist, please remove it! Ryan needs to get a good look at your vaginas, front and back, and your rear ends and thighs!"

All three women were captains of business or the professions. They were not used to taking orders. But each one got up and bent over, wiggling their asses toward the table. Jessica and Jennifer started twerking. Jennifer's twerk was fast... cheeks slamming together. Jessica's was more sensous... almost an invitation to come in between. The space between her cheeks seemed a little wider than the other two women. Ryan ran to the edge of the table, his heart racing, to get a better look at the show.

After a butt show that seemed way too short, the women sat down in their seats. "Ryan, are you ready to make your pick?" He nodded. Again, Martha bent her ear down and listened for the answer.

"Jessica, you are the winner! Ryan agrees to be your prime sex toy!"

Jessica, CEO of a major company, jumped up and down for joy, her thighs slapping together. She grabbed Ryan in her hands and put a lipstick smear from his shoulders to his crotch.

"Very well! The negotiations are concluded. Donna and Jennifer, you may leave and thank you for participating. If Jessica and her lawyer will stay behind, we'll get everyone's signatures..." Martha said.

It took about a half hour to go through the process. Ryan was wielding a pen as big as he was to sign the papers. It could have been handled electronically, but reporters wanted to get shots of him naked, manipulating the big purple pen as he committed himself to the body and sex of Jessica for a minimum of five years. Martha and Jessica shook hands. Then Martha took Ryan into her hands for the ride back to campus.

"Start packing tomorrow... you're going to training camp!", Martha told him.