Office fantasy

[JulieAnneC]

My fantasy is to be an executive assistant whose boss (either male or female) discovers some extremely compromising information about me. I would do anything to keep this information quiet, enabling my boss to use it as blackmail to increasingly humiliate me.

There is ample opportunity for my boss to carry out my humiliation, as I am a shy, self-conscious, classy and classical lady. Each day brings a new indignity, be it an enhancement (or reduction) to my conventional wardrobe (shorter skirts, higher heels, lower blouses, lingerie), my low key looks (changes to my makeup and hair), my proper office mannerism and deportment (posture, speech, voice) and office décor, and even forcing me into humiliating sexual encounters (all sorts of opportunities at lunch, for lunch, with employees and guests.)

Would you be my boss? Please PM me and send a writing sample.

 

[saedo]

I refreshed my coffee in the break room and returned to my office. As I did, I engaged in one of my favorite games at work: secret admiring my secretary's luscious form.

The secrecy was a new twist. I had far more experience at openly admiring attractive women. Usually my attentions were heartily welcomed by the females I directed them at. Women generally regarded my athletic frame and olive complexion rather appealing. Those with a materialistic eye were likewise impressed by my bespoke suits and the understated (but expensive) watch on my wrist. Consequently, most women regarded it as a compliment that a man like me would find them attractive.

Not so with my secretary, however. The first time I had let my gaze drop from her face to admire the swell of her breasts, she cleared her throat and coolly informed me, "My eyes are up here, Mr. Trask." I made the mistake of thinking she was playing hard to get and continued my flirtation. She swiftly shut that down by threatening to report my actions to Human Resources. Not wanting to be stuck in hours of sensitivity training, I backed off. I'd since confined myself to admiring her when her back was turned or her gaze averted.

At first glance, the appeal of the game seemed minimal. My secretary's attire choices were best described as "serious" and "no nonsense". While she definitely had curves, her clothing never called attention to them. Her skirts always fell well below the knee and her blouses were always buttoned to her throat. Her hair was almost always formed into a pristine bun. Her heels were always sensibly short. She wore little makeup or jewelry. She hardly ever smiled.

Still, I knew that beneath that dull exterior lurked something truly delicious. I'd disrobed enough women to know that she was concealing some truly epic curves. Her lingerie was doing a remarkable job of diminishing a rack that would make a stripper weep with jealousy. Downplay it though she tried, she was a stunningly attractive woman. That she so thoroughly rejected my interest only made her the more appealing.

Unfortunately, stealing glances appeared to be the end of it. After a few months, she still insisted we remain on a last name basis and showed zero signs of warming to me. Unless something changed dramatically, looking without touching seemed to be my future.

I slid my brown, leather-look handbag into my desk drawer, shaking my head sadly. It reminded me of something out of the 1950s. Two chrome balls that slid past one another to clasp it closed, a faux leather strap, too long to dangle loosely, too short to wear over my shoulder. Why I needed a bag so big escaped me as it only held a matching ladies’ wallet, also 1950s genre, fat with plastic slots for ridiculous family pictures, a strap to bind it closed when drawn and snapped on the opposite side.

Pushing the drawer closed with my thick opaque stocking clad ankle, I straightened my back, and tucked my white starched blouse into the waist of my gray and brown striped skirt, completing my preening by refastening the top button of my dark brown cardigan sweater, the remaining buttons left unused, allowing the front of the sweater to drape open across my breasts before ending at my hips. Repositioning my black frame glasses on the edge of my nose, my attention was drawn to the envelope that was in my wire inbox. It was addressed to Mr. Trask, and in bold letters was marked “To be opened only by addressee. Strictly confidential.” How odd, I thought, and how odd also that the handwriting looked so familiar? I picked up the envelope and started to slide one of my short, unpolished fingernails under the flap before examining the writing again, lifting the glasses to get a clearer view with my perfect vision. Mr. Trask usually expected me to take care of his mail, but something seemed very personal about this particular package, so I hesitated and decided to leave it for him to open.

Knocking twice on his door before opening, I was surprised to see Mr. Trask already behind his desk, standing and looking impatient with me. It was rare for him to beat me into the office. I quickly stepped to the other side of the desk, and handed the hefty envelope across. “This came overnight for you, Mr. Trask. It is marked personal, so you will have to open it yourself.” I spun on my brown penny loafers, the hem of my skirt dancing at the tops of my ankles, before heading to the door.

“I know, Miss Clark. I have been waiting for that package. I got a call last night telling me to expect it, that I would find the documents and pictures enclosed to be quite interesting.” My brow furrowed as I tried to comprehend his point. “Would you mind waiting here with me as I look through these, just in case there is something you could, er, help me understand? Oh, and push the door to, if you would.”

Slowly turning back towards, Mr. Trask, I tilted my head, puzzled, reaching to tuck a stray auburn tendril that had escaped from its nest at the back of my head. Startled both by the loose hair and Mr. Trask’s sharp command, both unusual occurrences, I stood primly, clasping my hands at my waist, at a loss for words, absorbing his gaze as it scanned across my body.

I had her off balance. For the first time since I'd met her, I had the upper hand.

I flipped through the documents and photos. Excellent. It was even better than I'd hoped.

"I have had you investigated, Ms. Clark," I explained. "I can't really say why. True, your rather abrupt refusal of my attentions did seem odd. Most women find Jacob Trask to be rather appealing. But maybe you have a significant other. Maybe your sexual inclinations lie another way. Maybe you shun workplace relationships." I shrugged. "Your reasons could be perfectly innocuous."

I wagged a finger. "But still there was something about you. Something about how you carried yourself. There was more to you than meets the eye. It intrigued me. So I had a PI look into your background."

I grinned maliciously. "Curious thing. Till a couple years ago, you didn't exist. Oh, your resume says otherwise, but they're all from companies that no longer exist - victims of the last economic downturn. Odd, don't you think?"

"And then my PI found this." I slid a photo across the desk. "That mugshot certainly looks a lot like you, doesn't it? Could be your twin, you might say. Except her name is Chambers, not Clark. And that photo was taken just after she was arrested on a felony charge a few years back. Just third degree - nothing major. Maybe facing a 18 months in the state penitentiary."

"But then Ms. Chambers here skipped out on bail. She's a fugitive in Delaware. That's at least 5 years if law enforcement ever discovers her. "

I leaned back in my chair. "Now perhaps this is just coincidence. Maybe you've got a criminal doppelganger on the East Coast. Maybe this has nothing to do with you whatsoever.

"Which is why I had my PI lift your fingerprints from your personal coffee cup. I'm sure if he sends those to the Delaware State Police, they'll clear you in no time."

I pointed a finger at her. "Unless of course, you are Ms. Chambers. In that case, your whole life could come crashing down around you. You'd either be arrested and extradited or you'd have to go on the run again. Sounds horribly disruptive. Why, I bet someone like that would be willing to do just about anything to keep that from happening?"

I smiled across the desk at her. "So tell me, should I have my PI send those prints to Delaware? Or is there something you'd like to tell me?"

 

[JulieAnneC]

I am startled by his words, and audibly gasp, my hand clasping to my chest. All sorts of scenarios run through my mind, both frightening and perversely satisfying as I harken back to my past, having to think and act quickly, being in command. My hazel eyes shifting around the room, stalling for time, as I try to role play a path out of this box, but failing to lock in on any pathway. I had thought I was in the clear, and am angry with myself that I had continued to procrastinate, never planning for this moment. At last, I settle on the time-tested out for women, and force tears to swell in my eyes.

“Oh, but, Mr. Trask. How can that be? I mean, you know who I am.” I sob, and dab at my eyes with the white cuff of my starched blouse. “We have worked together for almost a year, and it would be impossible for me to just create myself, wouldn’t it? I mean, you checked my past when you hired me.” I feel my checks begin to warm to a bright red, and my left foot crosses behind my right at the ankle, tapping nervously. How could this have happened? Who would have known where I ended up? Julie Ann Chambers had gone missing, but everyone thought that she had met an untimely demise when they found her favorite jogging outfit in shreds by that mountain trail, a single pink running shoe at the bottom of the cliff, one of her favorite gold heart earrings lost in the scrabbled up dirt, her blood in the weeds at the edge of the trail. Biting my lower lip, my eyes shifting, I fill the silence with a second scenario.

“Well, maybe I was in Delaware and got caught up in some bad things going on at work. My boss, well … He was not the most ethical person, I came to find too late. Unlike you, Mr. Trask. Not one to do the right thing for his staff.” I hesitate before building the story. “He took some shortcuts and when the police came to the office that morning, they found me in his personal filing cabinet, organizing his papers. It was only then that I realized that maybe some documents had gone missing, maybe were even shredded, I think. Yes, that it what the police discovered as well, and we all were surprised when they found that he had stuffed some of the stuff in my purse. Uh, the shredded documents, that is.”

Mr. Trask is slowly shaking his head, shifting his look from me, to the papers, to me and again to the papers which he is flipping through, pausing every now and again. I know that I am not convincing, and nervously button the second and third buttons of my cardigan, before Mr. Trask settles on a certain photograph. Thrusting his chosen item at me, I glance away, tears welling in my eyes for real this time. I turn my head, again toying with the stray tendril which I try to wrap back into the bun, slipping out a bobby pin to capture and tack back into the knot.

 

[saedo]

I listened to her story. It wasn't a wholly implausible explanation. Coincidences did happen. Perhaps the evidence was circumstantial, but not probative.

But then she swiftly offered an alternative. I could feel the smile creep back across my lips.

"Rather swift with your attempts to explain away the evidence, Ms. Clark," I mused. Almost as if you'd spent time dreaming them up well before I ever asked the question. As if you had been expecting the question would be asked of you at some point by someone. But why would you ever be asked such a strange question about a situation that you were never involved in?"

I slid another photo across to her. "So strange that you'd have a person who looks so much like you. Take away Ms. Chambers' heels, lose a little weight, lengthen the hair, lose the dye job, and wrap those curves in dull office attire. Do that and the resemblance is uncanny. Did you keep the tattoo or were you smart enough to have that removed?"

I chuckled and held up a hand. "No, don't bother. The simple truth is that I don't believe you. I think your name is Chambers and that you are indeed a wanted woman."

I spread my hands wide, palms up. "But don't fret. I can think of better uses for you than seeing you in an orange jumpsuit. If you are willing to be a bit more . . . compliant. . . well, then, I don't see any reason for this to remain our little secret."

I gathered up the file and stood. "But let me give you tonight to think about it. Tomorrow morning, you can give me your answer. If you are not Julie Ann Chambers, show up as usual. I'll send a copy of the file with your fingerprints to the Delaware police and they can clear up the odd coincidence."

"But if you are Julie Ann Chambers, then you have two options. If you don't show up to work, I'll give the Delaware police your file and tell them you fled. Think you'll outrun them a second time?"

"But if Ms. Chambers shows up to work, she'll be wearing a short skirt. None of your usual numbers down past your calves. No, tomorrow I see those knees and some thigh. If that happens, then I know you agree to my little bargain: do as I say andythis file gets forgotten."

I stepped from around the desk and grabbed my briefcase. "I leave it for you to decide, Ms. Chambers. See you in the morning."

I walked past her and headed for the elevators. I could feel the anticipation building in my belly. Tomorrow would be most interesting.

 

[JulieAnneC]

I raised my hand, my mouth open as if to challenge Mr. Trask as he walks past me, briefcase in hand, but only silence empties from me. Blinking back tears, I slump to my knees, my head propped on my hands, elbows resting on the edge of Mr. Trask’s executive desk. “Oh, my. Julie, you are such a fool.” Taking over an hour to compose myself, I finally grab my hideous handbag out of my desk drawer and spin around to leave when Cliff, the mail boy, comes in to drop off the daily mail. Of all people, I am thinking to myself. What derogatory thing is he going to say today!

Depositing the mail into my wire basket, Cliff casts a gaze over my frump outfit and slowly shakes his head. Whistling, I only hear him mutter something about “the cover of Vogue” as he leaves. I consider sorting the mail before I go, but finally decide to leave it. “Let the next fool worry about this.”

“What?” I turn and see Ms. Moore, the human resources director standing behind me. Examining my face closely, Ms. Moore asks, “What is wrong, Julie? You look like you have been crying. Is something wrong, or has Mr. Trask done something to you? Where is he today anyhow?”

“Oh, no. No, nothing at all like that, Ms. Moore. I think I am just, uh, out of sorts with something that, uh, reminded me… Oh, never mind. I just need to go for the day, but will be okay tomorrow. Mr. Trask is out today, anyhow, so I am sure no one is going to miss me.”

Once home, I nervously pace and try to decide what my options are. I unsuccessfully try to chew on my nails, cut off flush with the edge of my fingers, and instead mindlessly play with my bun, the knot untying and my brown hair tumbles down to below my shoulders. After looking at some documents, and checking out the bus schedules, I pull out an overnight bag, and throw my few cherished trinkets and two days change of clothes into the bag, and rush into the kitchen to get a last bite to eat. The mail slides through the slot on the front door, so I leave my yogurt on the counter, and rush to pick the mail from the floor. One envelope in particular causes me to catch my breath for the second time that day. Taking off my clear lens glasses, I open the envelope and slide out the short typewritten sheet. “Bitch! How could she!!” I burst into to tears and fall on the catch, sobbing.

The next morning, I slide my ugly purse into my desk drawer, and look through the prior day’s stack of papers that had accumulated in my absence. Building various stacks, I make one pile for Mr. Trask, and add the prior day’s mail to it. Gathering my nerve, I at last walk over to the office door, my usual flat brown loafers leaving prints in the carpet. Softly knocking twice on the door, I turn the knob, hoping that Mr. Trask is back on his usual schedule, which would place him arriving at least another thirty minutes from now. For the second day running, however, Mr. Trask has beaten me to work. I feel his eyes inventorying me, noting the clunky shoes, opaque hosiery, starched white blouse, this time adorned with a scarf around the collar to distract the eye from elsewhere, a trick many mothers-to-be learn, but in this instance, in a lame attempt to distract from my navy wool skirt, the hem of which ends about three inches above the knee.

 

[saedo]

The sight of her sent a thrill up my spine. It was not that her look was a particularly sizable improvement. Plenty of the female staff - particularly the younger set - wore their skirts that length - or shorter. But compared to her usual demure style, this seemed almost hedonistic.

I beckoned her over behind my desk. She approached with her characteristic reluctance. I paid it no mind.

"Ah, Julie," I murmured. She flinched slightly at my casual familiarity; she'd always insisted on more formal address. "I see we understand one another."

I reached out with a hand and slid it over a bare knee. "I will uphold my promise; your secret will remain hidden." My hand slid up her thigh till the hem of her skirt brushed against my skin. "So long as you follow instructions, you are safe."

My fingers slipped beneath her skirt, gently stroking her inner thigh. I forced myself to go no further. I was sorely tempted to slide my hand till it brushed her panties - till I could cup her warm pussy. I bet she had a gorgeous pussy. The thought had my thick cock swelling down my pants.

But I compelled myself to be patient. I dared not push too far with her. She'd run before and she might again. I needed to conquer her slowly, bit by bit. I kept my touch just inside her skirt.

"Now that you are showing off a little leg, seems a shame not to have appropriate footwear." I glanced down at her dull. shoes. "Tomorrow, you'll wear some heels. Say 3". No, make that 4."

"And you should make an appointment with a stylist for your hair. I want you to wear it down tomorrow. No more buns."

I glanced at her hands. "And get your nails done, too. They look terrible. And don't cut them so short. And have them painted. Something lively. A nice red or pink or something. You need more color about you."

I released my grip on her thigh. " That will do for now. Go fetch me the Peterson file, please."

 

[JulieAnneC]

I bite my lower lip, unsure whether I felt relief or terror. Mr. Trask’s fingers under my skirt had me scared, but he refrained from going further and removed his hand. The sensation was, like my current feelings, but stimulating and alarming, but overall, it could have been worse, much worse, I thought. It had been, how long? Clearly since before the incident that I had even given thought to being with a man, let alone actually been involved. I shivered slightly, my thigh reacting in memory of the light touch of Mr. Trask’s fingers.

“Yes, Mr. Trask. I will fe.., find the Peterson file and bring it right to you.” Strange choice of words, I thought, and also how strange to call me by my first name. We had always maintained that professional distance, but now not even his fingers had kept that distance, although they did remain a socially-acceptable distance away. I went back to my desk and, while turned leaning over the lateral filing cabinet, I heard the door open. Cliff had entered on his morning mail run, and I quickly sat into my chair, realizing that while hunched over the cabinet, Cliff would see the back of my knees, and maybe a little bit above that point. “Er, huh. Ohhh kaaay, Miss Clark.” He backed backwards, a leering grin on his face, and then a whistle. “Okay. Have you finally caught up into the 70’s in your fashion magazines. Ha!” He turned and walked out, and I balanced my head in my hands.

Ms. Moore enters a moment later, and a frustrated look crosses her face. “Whatever is troubling you today? Did you not resolve your issue yesterday?” I raise my head and force a smile. “Oh, yes. I think, uh, everything is okay now. Sorry, just thinking.” I start to get up but suddenly drop back into the seat, not wanting to show my short skirt to Ms. Moore, although I do notice how short her own skirt is, much further above the knees than mine. I also notice that she is wearing fashionably high heels. “Uh, Ms. Moore. I was wondering. Where do you buy your shoes?”

Ms. Moore, who always seems to be walking with her coffee cup, almost sprays her last swallow as she laughs at my question. “Whatever would you need to know that for, Julie Clark? I don’t think they would have clogs or whatever is on your mind there. Ha! You can get anything more fashionable than what you wear at any store, I am sure, although you probably wouldn’t know that. What is it with you anyhow? Have you not gone shopping in the last five years? I thought you just were dressing ultraconservatively when you interviewed, but you should consider loosening up a little. Well, I am glad you have sorted things out, but please try to at least add professional body language to that, uh, wardrobe. That is my recommendation.”

After Ms. Moore leaves, I slide my chair back to the cabinet, find the Peterson file and walk back to Mr. Trask’s office. “Here is the file, Mr. Trask. I am not sure I can help you with this; not even real sure why you are interested in this again since he was such a, well, so rude. But let me know if there is anything I can do. Oh, uh, and considering your other requests, I would like to leave to get some, uh, shopping done. Not sure I know where to find what you want, but Ms. Moore suggested some stores, well generally.” A puzzled smile crosses Mr. Trask’s face as he contemplates what I may have discussed with Ms. Moore. I smooth the back of my skirt down in an effort to lengthen it as I spin and go out the door, and take the rest of the day off to go shopping.

The next morning, I knocked my usual two times, this time expecting Mr. Trask to be in early. Opening the door, I hold forth the couriered package from Mr. Peterson, my half-inch long fake nails, painted a bright coral red contrasting with the white package. I watch Mr. Trask’s eyes widen and, embarrassed, toss the package on his desk from my position just inside his door, hiding my nails inside a fist. Mr. Trask then observes my hair, unpinned for him for the first time, but still conservatively worn in a tight braid, the end cinched in a bland rubber band I found in my desk drawer. I am wearing a new black linen shirtdress that I bought, buttoned from my chin down to the last button, one inch above the hem which dances two inches above my knees. I am concerned that the tightness of the last button is hobbling my gait, but that could be just because of the black patent leather heels I have on my feet. I had practiced for an hour in my apartment yesterday, but was successful only in wearing a blister on the backs of my heels and in waking up with a sore ankle from twice turning my right foot on the narrow heel. I wanted a clunkier heel for balance, but not a single store sold anything with four inches other than narrow stilettos.

 

[saedo]

I glanced up at the thump on my desk. A Redweld folder has appeared from nowhere. My gaze shifted upwards, where I spot my secretary standing in the doorway.

The change since yesterday was impressive given her penchant for drabness. Her fingernails were now noticeably longer - fake, presumably - and painted a rather bright shade of red. Her outfit fell just above the knee, but she'd ditched the dull cardigan. The row of buttons running down the front definitely were straining to contain her magnificent chest. She also stood uneasily on heels a bit too high for a day at the office. They did, however, make her calves look fantastic.

"On the whole, a marked improvement, Julie, " I remarked. "Still a ways to go, though. The skirt definitely needs to be higher. And the neckline lower. Buttoning yourself up to the top makes you look like you're dressing for a blizzard."

I pointed to the folder on my desk. "This, however, won't do. What am I, some intern that you can just throw things on my desk?!" I glared at her till she looked away. "You will place things on my desk with deference."

I grabbed the folder and heaved it towards her. It thumped to the floor near her feet. "Pick it up," I demanded. "Pick it up and bring it to me."

Julie started to kneel, but I interrupted her. "No, not like that. I want you to bend over at the waist. And make sure you face away from me when you do."

 

[JulieAnneC]

I deserved the harsh response to my throwing of the file, and am remorseful, my head hung in sorrow. “I am sorry, Mr. Trask. That was wrong of me.” I stand straight and pivot carefully on what feel to me to be circus stilts, and slightly stumble as I turn around, my arms thrusting out in a successful balancing act. Again, I bend my knees, my back straight and I feel my backside straining at the tight skirt of my dress. Just as I reach the nadir of my effort, Mr. Trask harshly reprimands me, reminding me that he asked that I bend at the waist, not stoop as a lady would. I am taken aback both by the tone and his mocking emphasis on “lady”, but after resetting myself, I bend at the waist, the backs of my thighs pulling taut as they are pulled in opposite directions from the tug of my waist and the unnatural curve of my feet. My skirt rides up the back of my thigh under the strain, and a button comes undone as my hips force the skirt to widen at its weakest point.

Losing my balance from the unusual posture, I catch myself, my right hand, bent at a ninety degree angle, flat against the floor, my head bowed, the braid slipping off of my back over my shoulder. Carefully, I slip my free hand towards the envelope, and pick at it with my fingers, surprised at the difficulty of grasping it under the new length, though still short, of my fingernails. An audible sigh escapes from my mouth as I firmly grasp the package. Remaining bent over to regain my strength, the backs of my legs stretched to their maximum length, I at last gather myself and rise back to my full height of 5’4”. Turning around to face Mr. Trask, my lips drawn seriously tight, I slowly walk towards him, eyes averted to avoid making eye contact, carefully placing my 4” heels one in front of the other, my hips swaying with my step in a seductive manner from the height of the heels and the hobble of the bottom button of the dress.

Taking fifteen mincing steps to cover what usual take fewer than half a dozen to cover the same distance, I offer up the package. “Here you go, Mr. Trask. This package was on my desk this morning, and it if addressed to you. I did not open it.” Noticing that the button that had come undone, fourth from the bottom, making a mental note to refasten it as soon as Mr. Trask takes the package from me.

 

[saedo]

I watched her step carefully towards me. The heels were obviously proving difficult for her and she well knew the spectacle that created. This opportunity to embarrass her as she toddled around the office delighted me.

I made her walk around to my chair to hand-deliver the package. I took it from her and set it aside without a glance. I cared more about exerting my authority over her than its contents.

As she bent over slightly to hand the package to me, her long, thick braid swung past her shoulder and dangled down. I could not resist the opportunity. I grabbed it and pulled her further forward.

Julie cried out as I drew her off balance. I grasped her upper arm and guided her into a controlled fall. I saw to it she landed across my lap. I also kept a hand on her back to prevent her from rising.

"Tsk, tsk," I chided. "Just doing what you should have done is hardly sufficient recompense, Ms. Chambers. I think you will have to be punished."

Her skirt-clad bottom was in near perfect position. I gave it a hearty swat with my hand. Even beneath her outfit, I could see the firm flesh jiggle from the impact. I hit her again with greater force. Delightful.

I lifted her off me and shoved her into an upright position. She tottered a moment, but kept her balance. "You need to show more respect, Ms. Chambers," I cautioned. "Else I will have to spank you again." I gestured towards the door. "Back to work."

 

[JulieAnneC]

Tears well in my eyes, and I am unclear whether they are due to the sharp strikes or the humiliation. I have not been spanked since I was a little girl, and I am not sure whether I will ever regain any self-respect in front of Mr. Trask. “Yes, Mr. Trask. I am sure I will be more respectful. Would not want to have this, uh, have you upset with me again.” As I step around, my dress gapes open for just an instant where the button had come undone, and I sense that Mr. Trask caught a brief glimpse of my panties gauging from the smirk on his face. My face reddens further from this new indignity, so I mince quickly to the door and slip back to my desk, massaging my backside to relieve the soreness.

As luck would have it, Cliff slides in just as I reach down to fumble with my button. “Wow, I mean. Look at you. I hope you are unbuttoning the rest of those. You should show off those legs.” His face drops towards the floor and he is speechless for a second. “Heels? Do show me. Walk over here.”

“No,” I hiss. “Get out of here. Now, Cliff.” He backs slowly backwards, an amazed grin on his face, as he looks me up and down. “Who knew you had hair, Ms. Clark? Maybe you can work on that next!” He suddenly whips out his phone and snaps a quick photo of me. “The guys are not going to believe this. Ha ha ha.”

I lunge at Cliff to grab his phone, but misstep on my heels and stumble onto the carpet. Cliff snaps a couple of more photos at my expense, and charges out of the office. I lie there for a moment, my hands covering my face as tears start anew from this new indignity. “What have you gotten yourself into, Julie? You fool, you act like you’ve never dressed before.” I sob, my chest heaving at its tight binding under the shirtdress. Ms. Moore walks in and almost trips over me. “Well, for the love of it. Julie Clark. Get up off that floor. What are you doing?” She suddenly gasps, and places her coffee mug on my desk. “What in the world? Look at your shoes? You were serious about shopping. And you hair is undone. Do you have a new beau?” She reaches down and I raise my hand for her to grab to help me up, but instead she strokes my ankle above the shoe, feeling the new black nylons still shielding my legs. “What size do you wear, Julie?”

“Oh, they are size six, very narrow. It was not easy to find these. I had to go to a specialty shoe store, Ms. Moore.” I pull my leg back out from under her light touch.

“Well, I think the problem is not the narrowness, but the height. Only special kinds of girls would go to such extent. I think I have some pairs that I can give you, though. I wear a five and a half, so they might be a little tight but maybe would help with your narrow feet. See, do you like these? She dangles her foot in front of my face, turning her open toed sandals left and right directly in front of my face, then raising her own four inch heel, the tip grazing my chin. “These would be fine for you.” Suddenly, she slips her heel down, and pokes at the opening between the closed buttons on my dress before stepping back. “You better get up now before I report this behavior to Mr. Trask. Right now, Ms. Clark.” I stumble to my feet, and brace myself against the back of my desk. Ms. Moore glances down at the unbuttoned skirt, smiling, grabs her cup and leaves. I reach down again to rebutton the skirt when I hear Mr. Trask open his door.

 

[saedo]

"Ms. Cha-," I began, but stopped myself. "Ms. Clark, do come in."

I held the door wide to let her pass. I took opportunity to stare unabashedly at her ass as she does. I make sure that she sees me do it as well. I also make a show out of turning the lock in my door. "I think for this next bit, we shouldn't be disturbed."

I approached her. "Earlier, I caught a glimpse of your underwear. It seemed rather . . . plain. I suppose I should have expected as much."

I kept walking towards her. She instinctively took a step back, but my desk was in the way. I stopped directly in front of her, close enough for her breasts to brush my chest. "However, I'd like a better look. Take off your dress."

 

[JulieAnneC]

I feel my nipples tingle as Mr. Trask’s chest brushes against mine, and will myself to calm down. “No no no,” I silently tell myself. I am leaning backward over the desk to create some separation, and am lost in thought as I hear Mr. Trask harshly ask me, “Well?” Refocusing, I try to recall what he has said, and I suddenly focus on his request. “No, no Mr. Trask. I shouldn’t do that. No.” I shake my head, my braid lightly dancing at my breast, but understand I really have no choice. My dress is coming off, or I am off to prison.

Mr. Trask lightly pinches my chin between his chin and forefinger, turning my face so that I have to look in his eyes, and he again asks, “Well?” Closing my eyes, and biting my lips, I nod my head in acquiescence as he releases my chin. I lift my hands between my breasts and his chest, and undo the button of my right cuff, repeating with the left. Mr. Trask backs off, giving me some space to undo my collar button and then the three below, the dress now open to my bra, my cleavage peering out of the neckline. Taking a deep breath, I kneel, my back straight, knees thrust forward from the tilt of my high heels, and begin to undo the buttons of my black dress from the bottom hem upward, only skipping the already undone button. Standing back up, I struggle with the button just above the stray button, my fingers trembling in nervousness at knowing my white cotton panties were soon to be unprotected. I am also struggling with the new length of my nails, recalling how difficult it was to fasten up all those tiny buttons within the virgin buttonholes this morning. In dismay, I know I now was going to have to do that again to leave this evening.

Finally succeeding at undoing the next button, I release three more, reaching the bottom of the black belt tightly cinched around my narrow waist. Closing my eyes, I try to recompose myself. I am soon to be naked, but for my breasts and belly, in front of a man, my boss. Mr. Trask quietly takes a step back towards me, silently urging me to proceed, and in reaction, I lean back, the skirt of my dress falling open, exposing the drab panties, a tiny bow at the waist. Mr. Trask reaches towards me, lightly brushing my inner thigh before reaching to my belt, unhooking it and letting it drop to the floor. Stepping back, a smile on his face, he hold up four fingers, the same number as the buttons that remain. Sniffling back a tear, I nod my head and unfasten the remaining buttons, the entire front now falling open, my matching cotton bra now logged into the scene. Shrugging out of the dress, and sliding it off of my arms, I crisply fold it, placing the garment in a neat package on his desk. My breasts are covered, my arms folded across my chest, until Mr. Trask touches my arms, urging them towards my side. I feel like a young girl, the first time before her boyfriend and close my eyes in humiliation. A light touch of a finger touches against my ribs, tracing a line up my side to just under the strap of my bra, and then back down to my waist. I open my eyes only to see Mr. Trask examining the mark, and a parallel on just behind, an enduring legacy of the bones of the tight corset I wore endlessly from the time of the incident until just a few days ago in now failed effort to reshape my past.

 

[saedo]

I felt my pulse quicken slightly as her body slowly revealed itself. She had a lovely hourglass shape. She'd been concealing a tremendous form with her penchant for drab, shapeless outfits.

I felt warmth building in my groin as she set the dress aside. I'd always been a fan of the female breast, but Julie's were a world apart. Her plain cotton bra was a restrictive affair undoubtedly designed to minimize them, but they were still impressively large despite the constraints.

"It seems almost a crime to so conceal such works of art," I mused as I drew a finger along the bottom edge of her bra. I slid my hand higher and let the weight of her left breast briefly rest against my palm. "Certainly such beauty should be covered by something finer than this. Have you no silk lingerie? Your breasts should be adorned in vibrant color and lace."

I let my hand drift along her slender belly till I reached the waistband of her panties. "This, too, seems unacceptably dull." I slipped a finger inside the elastic and traced her waistline out to her hip.

I resisted the urge to extend my finger deeper inside. I was tempted to see her reaction when my fingertip brushed her pussy. But better to tease her with the possibility of intimate contact now and yet refrain. Show her the extent of my self-control.

"Tomorrow you should wear something more pleasing to the eye. Silk or satin, perhaps. And make sure they match. A woman whose bra and panties are of different colors seems... careless."

I withdrew my finger, but paused as I looked at her side. There was a curious mark in her side running from her waistline up to her bra. I puzzled a moment. "Julie, why do you have this mark here?" I traced its length with my fingertip.

 

[JulieAnneC]

Standing with my eyes looking at my feet, Mr. Trask circles and admires my body, causing me to blush, and then blush even deeper as he compliments my breasts. His finger tracing along me feels magically, his touch so light. I close my eyes, enjoying the attention, an electric charge wracking my body as he brushes my pussy. No! No! Don’t go there, I fear. Yes! Yes! Please violate me! The mix of emotions is exhilarating.

“Yes, Mr. Trask, I will see if I can get some panties and bra sets that match and please you.” I am not sure if I want this or not, nor why I even said it, but the freedom it brings from my self-imposed drab prison somehow lifts my spirits. As Mr. Trask continues to examine my marks, my revelry quickly diminishes.

“Mr. Trask, that must just be from something that I pressed against, you know, like the marks from a pillow against your face if you sleep on it wrong. It must be from the seam of my new dress. All these new clothes are causing new strains on my body.” I rise to my toes, and settle back on my four-inch heels. Mr. Trask is shaking his head no, and for the first time is slightly rougher than I would want to be treated, my demeanor becoming slightly more serious in response to his poking at the mark, then the parallel line behind. He looks around me and sees two similar marks from my bra strap to my hip, though slightly fainter, on my opposite side. “What are these,” he asks again.

I close my eyes, thinking of an answer. Not the first time in the last few days where my life has changed once again, I think, a frown forming, my forehead knitting in concern. “Oh, uh, they are from a, uh, you know, a corset that I may have worn. Okay?” A tight, knowing smile forms on Mr. Trask’s face, and for the first time, I study his face, trying to figure out what he wants ultimately from me. Where is this going to lead? “Anything else, Mr. Trask? I think I should get back to work. There are new documents I need to fill out that are piling up on my desk.” I turn and reach for my neatly folded dress.

 

[saedo]

“Oh, uh, they are from a, uh, you know, a corset that I may have worn. Okay?"

A corset? I could scarcely imagine Julie being slimmer. And what effect would that have on her breasts? Big as they were, a corset seemed likely to shove them up to her chin.

"Do you still wear the corset, Ms. Chambers?" I pondered. "Perhaps I should have you put that on tomorrow instead."

She, however, avoided my question. “Anything else, Mr. Trask? I think I should get back to work. There are new documents I need to fill out that are piling up on my desk.” Her tone clearly suggested she wanted to end the conversation.

Julie turned her back to me and reached for her dress. The posture angered me. Who was she to turn her back to me?

I grabbed her left shoulder near her neck and forced her forward. She cried out in surprise as she suddenly toppled facedown onto my desk. I kept my hand on her to prevent her from rising and leaned down till my lips were near her ear.

"Don't you dare turn your back on me like that," I snarled quietly. "I decide when you may leave - not you. You don't dismiss me."

I pushed back to vertical, but shifted my hand to the small of her back to keep her pinned. "Now you have to be punished, Ms. Chambers."

With my free hand, I reached for the waistband of her panties. I roughly yanked it downward. After a few tugs, the cotton was down to her upper thighs, leaving her round butt cheeks fully exposed. I noted with some delight that her pussy was slightly visible.

I swung my hand hard and fast, crashing it into her right cheek. The sharp crack as my hand hut was surprisingly loud. Her butt quivered from the blow and the impact site began to pinken within seconds.

I landed a second blow on her other cheek with similar force. I stopped at ten. By that point, about two thirds of her ass was flushed a bright pink. I doubted it would leave a bruise, but she'd have difficulty sitting for the next few hours.

I grabbed her shoulder and hauled her upright. "Now you are dismissed, Ms. Chambers. Return to work."

 

[JulieAnneC]

Mr. Trask roughly pulls me up and dismisses me. I am stunned, not having been spanked since I was a schoolgirl, which was humiliating enough. I had gone to Catholic school, which is probably where my taste for drab conservative clothing was learned, and Sister Anne had striped my backside with a yardstick in eighth grade when six years of building tension with my rival, Caitlyn Conroy, culminating in me sticking chewing gum in her hair on week before the end of year. We both had speaking roles at our “graduation” onto high school, as we had the highest grade point averages, and were seated on the dais in front of the entire school family. Caitlyn was remembered for debuting her new short haircut, which actually, was quite trendy and which she wore for the rest of high school. I was thereafter known as HG for “highchair girl” because of the silly oversized pillow on my chair, which kept my short legs kicking free, unable to reach the ground, and which had provide scant relief to my bruises.

Kneeling down to grab my panties, I carefully ease them over my reddened backside. “I only wore the corset to, uh, help, uh, disguise myself.” It was true that that was the origin of my wearing the corset, along with other subtle changes to my looks, as Mr. Trask had correctly discovered. I was not about to tell him, though, that I came to enjoy the tight grip of the corset, finding comfort in it like a pet finds comfort from a tight embrace in a thunderstorm. Subconsciously, I gently squeeze my ribs before turning to pick up my dress. “I am sorry for turning my back on you before,” I remember to add as I turn back with my dress, slipping my arms through the sleeves. I start to button the dress, struggling with a button every now again with my nails. Anxious to get back to work and away from Mr. Trask, I leave the collar button loose, as well as the final four buttons below my hips. Stumbling out of his office on my heels, I breathe a sigh of relief as I close his door, taking a moment to catch myself. “Oh, shoot!” I realize I left my belt on his desk. “Oh, well. I will get that later after he leaves.”

Going to my desk, I rebutton the last of the buttons to the hem, and fasten my cuffs, sitting down in my hard chair, before bouncing immediately up in the air. “Yow!” I rub my backside before easing back down a second time. Sniffling back a tear, I again stand and go about my tasks, balanced on my new heels. After an hour of standing, my calves tightening and my toes pinched, I try to sit again, tears gathering in my eyes. Breaking down, I pick up my phone. “Cliff, this is Julie. Do we have a chair pillow that you can bring me from the supply room? Yes, something with a little cushion. These chairs are so hard. No! Ugh, you are such a jerk.” I slam the phone down as I hear the office door open.

 

[saedo]

I'd hoped to string Julie along for another day or two. Watching her be uncomfortable had been delightful entertainment.

However, I could feel the lust in me building. The sight of her naked rear with the hint of her pussy lips below as she was bent over my desk now proved too enticing to resist. I was going to need some relief before day's end.

I opened the door and beckoned Julie inside. Despite a hint of reluctance, she obeyed. I could feel my hunger rise as she walked past me and I could smell her perfume.

I closed the door behind her and faced her. "Change of plans, Ms. Chambers. I'm going to need you to run some errands for me. Take a long lunch; I'll let the office manager know you are handling some tasks for me."

I pulled out my wallet and counted out several $50 bills. I handed her the small stack. "Find yourself that lingerie we discussed earlier. Color and style I leave to you, but it should be something appealing to the eye and pleasant to the touch. I'm thinking silk or satin. Naturally, you should wear it back to the office."

"I also need you to procure a bottle of lube. I think water based would be best for our purposes."

I glanced at the clock. "Be back by 2. That should give you plenty of time."

 

[JulieAnneC]

I was stunned as Mr. Trask pressed the stack of $50 bills into my hand, looking at the stack clutched between my bright red nails. My life was unraveling at a rapid pace, to destinations unknown. Would prison be a more tolerable outcome, though?

Starting to speak, I choke back my thoughts under the burning stare of Mr. Trask. Spinning on my heels, I hustle out of his office, grab my handbag and head out to the door.

"Where are you going, Julie?" Ms. Moore had come up behind me, her eyes shifting between the stack of can and the horrified look on my face. "Looks like a lot of money just for lunch for the boss. Are you going shopping? For more shoes?"

"I am going to the mall for a few things. Not for shoes!"

"Oh, great. May, I go with you? I need to pick up a few things, and ..." A lascivious smirk appears on her face. "And, maybe I can help you with the rest of your wardrobe."

Without answering, I run out to my car.

At Victoria's Secret, a young girl follows me to the rack of bras, and insists on helping me. Blushing, I tell her I need a special outfit for my new boyfriend. "He must be Mr. Right if you are buying intimates for a new, ahem, friend." She picks out a matching green lift satin demi bra and matching panty set. "The green will bring out your eyes," she says, winking at me. "You should also buy a pink set, too. Let me measure you for the right fit." She unbuttons my dress and softly brushes my breasts. "Wow, are you wearing your grandmother's bra?" My eyes tear up, shamed by a twenty year old girl. She measures me and replaces her first selection with a smaller size. "You will not believe how this bra will improve your look. Your boyfriend will never look you in the face again!"

Grabbing the bra and panty from her, I retreat to the dressing room and am shocked to see my dress gape open under my lifted breasts. The salesgirl grins broadly as she undoes the straining button. "Show a little cleavage, girl. Now go get him! Oh, let me do this." From somewhere, she produces a matching satin ribbon and ties it on the end of my braid. Looking at my watch, I run out the door.

I pull back into the lot at work at 1:59, and rush into the office. Out of breath, I burst into Mr. Trask's office, handing back three dollars in change when I suddenly remember that he had said something about lube. Mr. Trask admires my new look, eying me From my beribboned hair to my hips. "I am sorry, Mr. Trask, but I forgot the lube. Is that something I can get for you on my way home? Do you need that tonight?"

 

[saedo]

I gave Julie a thorough appraisal as she re-entered my office. Her change in lingerie was immediately apparent. Where once her chest seemed dowdy, her cleavage seemed on the verge of escaping her blouse. That she was slightly winded from rushing back only heightened the effect; I half expected the tops of her boobs to brush her chin if she inhaled a little more deeply.

"Excellent work, Ms. Chambers. A vast improvement. You need to buy more just like that."

"I am sorry, Mr. Trask, but I forgot the lube. Is that something I can get for you on my way home? Do you need that tonight?"

I frowned at her mention of the lack of lube. "That could well be a problem, Ms. Chambers" I snapped. "I have a major meeting this afternoon. I need to be relaxed for it. I'm no good when I'm stressed.

I pointed to my groin. If you looked closely, the outline of the thick coil of my flaccid shaft was faintly visible beneath my pants. "Firing off a load always settles me. But I needed that lube to smooth out the friction."

I glared at her a moment. "Well, it's your mistake, so you need to fix it. I was going to settle for a hand job. Now it looks like you'll have to use your mouth instead."