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Archive name: career.txt (MF/F, drugs, rel, blkmail)
Authors name: Parker (Address defunct)
Story title : Career Opportunities

--------------------------------------------------------
Copyright 1994 by me (Parker). Feel free to distribute 
(unaltered) as you will, but be discrete.
--------------------------------------------------------

CAREER OPPORTUNITIES (MF/F, drugs, reluc, blkmail, work)
By Parker (Address defunct)

***

"What a bimbo!"

The small circle of people suddenly fell silent as 
everyone looked away, embarrassed. The speaker, Barbara 
Dahlton, smirked knowingly at this reaction. Predictable. 
She brushed back her thick brown hair and pretended not 
to notice when one of her co-workers made a tentative 
effort to change the topic. It was typical, really. 
People thought that just because she was a woman she was 
supposed to be supportive of the other female employees 
as the company.

Fat chance.

The subject of conversation - and hence Barbara's 
unflattering attention - had been the company's newest 
employee, Carol Louise Fawkner. At only twenty-two, she 
was by far the youngest executive in the office, male or 
female. 

This was an extremely impressive accomplishment, but not 
one which was totally unexpected for someone who had done 
as well as she had in university: top marks in her MBA at 
Harvard Business School as well as the two-time recipient 
the state of California's 'Young Entrepreneur' award 
(personally handed out by J Danforth Quayle!). 

Ben Keating, the senior VP in charge of recruitment had 
gone on at some length about how lucky the company had 
been to get her. Carol could have worked for some of the 
big boys in New York, but had instead chosen a medium 
sized firm in LA.

Barbara, on the other hand, had attributed Carol's 
educational success more to the girl's stunning good 
looks than any alleged intellectual capacity. Barbara had 
lately wondered aloud - on more than one occasion - how 
many professors the girl had fucked for her grades. 

There was no doubt about it: Carol was an extraordinarily 
beautiful young woman. She stood only about 5'3", but was 
perfectly proportioned: slender, with long legs, a narrow 
waist and small, firm breasts. Her face was delicately 
formed, with high cheekbones and large, green eyes that 
shone out beneath a tousle of curly blonde hair.

Unfortunately for her career ambitions, her appearance 
was that of a much younger girl, making it very difficult 
for her to command the respect she needed to do her job 
properly and effectively. When this was added to the fact 
that she was by nature quite shy (blushing easily), it 
explained why she had not been anywhere near as effective 
in the firm as Keating had originally hoped and expected. 
As well, she was having the difficulties all new 
graduates had in applying their academic knowledge to 
practical work situations.

Another, and by no means insignificant, difficulty Carol 
was experiencing at work was directly attributable to 
Barbara. As the senior female executive in the company, 
Barbara had felt threatened by this young 'star'. As well 
as fearing the younger girl's ability, Barbara secretly 
resented her beauty. 

It was not that Barbara was unattractive - she was well 
formed, with a slender waist, large breasts and a 
handsome-if-not-conventionally-beautiful face framed by 
thick, brown hair. In fact, Barbara would have been 
beautiful if she had not spent her career disguising this 
particular attribute. She was not, however, even remotely 
in the same league as Carol Louise Fawkner.

Very few women were.

Hence, she went out of her way to make things as 
difficult as possible for the new employee. She did 
nothing too overt, of course, but instead worked behind 
the scenes to undermine Carol's authority and make it 
more difficult for the young girl to function. And her 
efforts had paid off. Normally, Barbara was relatively 
circumspect about her feelings, taking great pains to 
ensure that no one was aware of her actions. 

Tonight, however, at the office Christmas party, Barbara 
was feeling pretty confident. She had it on good 
authority that Carol's one year contract would not be 
renewed, and the girl would be let go at the next review 
just over four months hence. She knew that she had done a 
good job of making certain that no one at the office took 
the girl seriously, and no longer cared who knew about 
it. In short, she was a little drunk, and wanted to have 
some fun.


At the younger girl's expense. Of course.

Carol, feeling uncomfortable and out of place as she 
always did at such functions, nervously approached the 
group of people standing around the bar. Gerry was there; 
so was Mark Prentiss and Brad Tymmens. And Barbara 
Dahlton. Ordinarily, Carol would have been too shy to 
impose herself on the group, but she felt a little more 
confident with Barbara there. 

Carol was shy, but she wasn't stupid; she was well aware 
of her beauty and the effect it had on men. On the whole, 
she would have preferred not to appear as she did, but 
there was no helping that. All attempts to hide or 
disguise her beauty - severe hairstyles, conservative, 
unattractive clothing; she had tried it all - were wasted 
on her. Her appearance was one of the reasons she was so 
shy around her co-workers. She knew she didn't look the 
part of a business person, and it was this self-
consciousness which weakened her and made her uncertain 
of herself.

It was different when Barbara was there, though. Besides 
the presence of another woman in the group, Carol had 
always found Barbara to be personally supportive and 
encouraging. The older woman - only mid-thirties, really 
- was always willing to listen to Carol's ideas, even 
when Carol was too unsure of herself to put them forward 
herself. Of all the people in the office, Barbara was the 
one she felt the most comfortable with.

Of course, the fact that Brad Tymmens, with his dark hair 
and blue eyes was there as well didn't hurt...

"Hi."

This tentative greeting was met with a round of absolute 
silence, as the members of the group shifted 
uncomfortably. Brad looked down at his feet, waiting for 
the inevitable. Carol seemed like a nice girl and he 
liked her a lot, but it was undeniable that she wasn't 
working out at the office. He didn't necessarily like 
Barbara all that much, but she did hold a position of 
power in the company; given Carol's precarious position, 
it would be foolish to take her side against anything 
Barbara might have to say.

And it seemed that Barbara had some things to say.

"Hello Carol," she chimed, mock friendly. "So glad you 
could join us."

"Thanks."

Brad choked back a cough. The poor girl sounded relieved.

Stupid.

"In fact," Barbara continued, "we were just talking about 
you. About your handling of the Hessen-Gerber sale." That 
particular file had ended in disaster due to Carol's 
inexperience and lack of confidence. What should have 
been a profitable sales transaction with a German company 
had ended in threatened litigation and, finally, 
termination of an interim agreement. Everyone knew that 
it was Carol's fault.

Even Carol.

The poor girl flushed. It made her look years younger; 
and not, Brad couldn't help but notice, all the more 
attractive. "W-what do you mean?" she stammered. "I've 
talked to..."

"Well." Barbara was sneering openly now. "We were all 
just curious as to how you managed to miss the completion 
date for the cost proposals."


"I..."

"I mean," Barbara interrupted, "it couldn't have been 
easy. We even negotiated two extensions for you."

"Barbara. Why are..."

"The germans were most impressed."

Carol looked as though she were about to start crying at 
any moment. The others in the group started down at their 
feet, up at the ceiling, across the room... anywhere 
other than at the bloodletting that was occurring in 
front of them. Brad felt terrible about it, but 
nonetheless suddenly found the ice cubes in his drink 
extremely fascinating.

"At least we didn't get sued this time," Barbara went on 
relentlessly. "Not like the Yakamoto Contract." Another 
disaster file which Carol had worked on. "Or our supply 
contract with Point Hope. You've almost got a perfect 
record, honey."

Carol just stared, well beyond the point of objecting or 
protesting. She was well aware of the fact that her 
career with the company had gotten off to a rough start, 
but she was working hard to improve. Up to now, she had 
thought that Barbara had been one of her supporters...

"Well, don't worry about too much," Barbara told her. 
"Things aren't working out where you are, but I'm sure 
we'll find something else for you soon. Something more 
suitable." The brunette paused a moment, looking sideways 
at her co-workers. Sharing the joke. "I understand 
there's some openings coming up in the typing pool," she 
said. "They're always looking for one or two more blonde 
bimbos to take dictation and do... 'other' jobs."

This was too much for Carol. Choking back a sob, she 
turned and moved away, practically running in hasty 
retreat. Barbara sneered as her victim fled.

"Bimbo," she muttered.

Beside her, Brad gritted his teeth in anger and 
frustration. He wasn't sure who he hated most: Barbara 
for her treatment of the younger employee, or himself for 
not trying to stop it.

*

"I can't believe what a bitch she was."

"I believe it."

The car moved slowly over the rain-soaked streets. Brad 
Tymmens stared moodily out the window at the ink-black 
scenery as Rodney Parsons steered the car. Rodney was 
also an employee of the company, in charge of the IT 
department. They were on their way home from the office 
Christmas party.

"She treated that poor girl so badly," Brad continued, 
drumming his fingers angrily on the dashboard. "I should 
have told her to shut the fuck up."

"And lost your job," Rodney commented.

Brad grunted in agreement. The strict new policies at 
work regarding any sort of harassment of the female 
employees would no doubt have classified any such 
outburst on the part of a male employee as sexual 
discrimination and would have resulted in Brad losing his 
job. In fact, Barbara had already used such tactics a 
couple of times to remove male co-workers who opposed 
her. Only a woman would have gotten away with treating 
Carol the way she had been treated at the party.

And, it seemed, a woman had done just that.

"Bullshit," Brad muttered.

"Hey," Rodney answered him, "I don't like it any more 
than you do. But what can we do about it? That Barbara's 
a first class cunt, but she's going places in the firm. 
Rumour has is she's up for sales VP in a few months. And 
Carol... well, she's just not working out." He shook his 
head, ever practical. "There's no point in losing your 
job over that."

Brad couldn't disagree. But... "I just wish that there 
was some way we could pay her back without getting into 
trouble."

"What do you mean?"

"Some way to make her look like an idiot," Brad 
explained, chewing on his lip in thought. "Some way 
to..." His face lit up. "Wait a minute."

"What?"

"Remember you were telling me about that drug your wife 
was taking for pain."

Rodney nodded. His wife Tracy had been hit by a car a 
couple of months ago, shattering her hip. It was healing, 
but there was still a lot of pain. Rather than prescribe 
usual pain killers, the doctors had suggested that she 
use a new drug. 

This drug, bi-trexicol, acted like morphine - deadening 
the pain - but was not at all addictive. The side effect 
was that it seemed to slow down the mental processes of 
the user, making the user appear rather slow and stupid. 
Tracy hadn't like this effect, and preferred to use other 
pain killers. There was a container with a number of bi-
trexicol tablets sitting in the medicine cabinet at home.

"So?"

"So... why don't we slip a couple to Barbara before the 
sales group meeting tomorrow?"

"What!? Man, that's crazy. We could get in all kinds of 
shit."

"Only if we got caught." Brad was excited now. This was 
the perfect way to get back at Barbara. "And it's not 
dangerous. All it'll do is make her a bit confused at the 
meeting and she'll fuck up her report or something."

"Well..." Rodney reconsidered. He wouldn't do it himself, 
but if Brad were willing to take the chance... Hell, it 
wouldn't hurt to see Barbara taken down a peg or two.

It might even be fun!

"Alright," he decided. "I'm in."

It would be a simple matter to pack the drugs in his 
briefcase the next morning before leaving for work.

*

Barbara leaned wearily against the side of her desk and 
tried to clear her head. It had been a disaster! She had 
never been so humiliated in her life. What should have 
been a simple sales report - the kind of thing she had 
done numerous times before - had turned into a confused 
jumble of mistakes, misunderstandings and confusion on 
her part. She just couldn't understand it. 

Everything had been prepared going in, but once she 
started her presentation she had found herself unable to 
focus. Words, numbers, concepts... things she knew 
backwards and forwards were all of a sudden a complete 
mystery to her. 

At first it seemed to go pretty well, but after a while 
she began to stumble over her facts. Robert Baxter, the 
present VP in charge of sales - AND THE MAN WHO WOULD 
PICK HIS SUCCESSOR - had corrected her, at first gently 
and unobtrusively, but then with increasing annoyance and 
frustration. At last, openly angry, he had cancelled the 
presentation and ordered her to report to his office 
later that afternoon.

She had almost been in tears. Even now, over two hours 
later, she was unable to think of anything other than the 
impending encounter. Barbara checked her watch: almost 
4:00 - time for the meeting. She felt better now than she 
had during the presentation - sharper, more focused. 
Confident of her ability to deal with the problem. Still, 
a couple more sips of coffee wouldn't hurt. She needed to 
be on her toes if she wanted to save her promotion. With 
one swallow, she finished the lukewarm mug of coffee 
which had been sitting beside her on the desk.

Time to go...

*

Brad glanced up surreptitiously from where he was 
pretending to be hunting for a file in one of the hall 
storage cabinets. From where he stood, he could just see 
into Barbara's office through the partially open door.

She was drinking another cup of coffee!

Perfect. It had been the coffee in which he had elected 
to dissolve the tablets. Barbara had her own coffee maker 
in her office so that she could drink her own premium 
blend. (Typical!) Brad had slipped four tablets in during 
his morning report to her in her office, and then another 
four while she was in the big sales meeting, just in the 
hope of carrying the mischief a little farther.

So far things seemed to be working out perfectly. Neither 
he nor Rodney had been present during Barbara's 
presentation - the one big drawback to his plan - but 
from the look on the bitch's face afterward, things had 
apparently worked out pretty much as planned. 

Barbara - looking like she was about to throw up - had 
marched directly to her office and slammed shut the door. 
Over the next few hours, word of her pathetic performance 
had peculated through the office with the speed of juicy 
gossip. Barbara had only emerged from her office a couple 
of times to deal with matters that couldn't be put off, 
but had basically spent the afternoon by herself.

By now, of course, the entire firm knew of her impending 
confrontation with Robert Baxter. The meeting was to take 
place in his office, which, in Brad's opinion, was 
absolutely perfect. Better than they had any right to 
expect, Rodney had agreed, before driving home to pick up 
his video camera.

The video camera.

The inside of Baxter's office could be viewed from behind 
a one-way mirror in an adjoining storage closet. The 
entrance to the closet was in Baxter's receptionist's 
office. She was often asked by Baxter to observe 
sensitive meeting from the closet in order to be in a 
position to verify his version of events should matters 
go awry and litigation ensue, a stratagem which had come 
in handy more than once. The receptionist - Phyllis 
Morden - was an extremely conscientious woman, who took 
her responsibilities very seriously. She would never 
allow anyone into the locked storage closet without the 
knowledge and permission of her boss.

Phyllis Morden also hated Barbara Dahlton with a passion.

This hatred was understandable. Barbara's contempt for 
the female support staff had not endeared her to many, 
and Phyllis Morden - who was facing the unpalatable 
prospect of choosing between losing her job or working 
for Barbara after Baxter left - nurtured a special 
loathing her. To make matters worse, Barbara had shown 
little restraint in making fun of Phyllis's weight 
problem (the office "Roseanne", Barbara had called her).

The final straw was that Phyllis was gay, and had 
experience something of a crush on Barbara when she had 
first started working at the Company.

In the end, it had been a simple matter to convince 
Phyllis that witnessing Barbara being chewed out was more 
important than some minor rule regarding access to 
closets. Besides, it was pointed out, Baxter only had 
another few months to go before retirement; loyalty to a 
man in such a position seemed a bit unnecessary, if not 
outright foolish.

And that was why, at precisely 4:00 that afternoon, Brad 
Tymmens, Rodney Parsons with his video camera and Phyllis 
Morden were watching intently as Barbara entered the 
office of Robert Baxter, VP in charge of sales.

*

Barbara walked slowly through the door into Baxter's 
office. His bitch of secretary hadn't been at her desk, 
so she had been forced to announce herself on the office 
intercom. The speaker's tinny reproduction of Baxter's 
expressionless "come in" had somehow made the encounter 
all the more frightening to her. By the time she pushed 
open the door, her hands were shaking and her stomach was 
tied in knots. Worst of all, she had started feeling the 
same dazed and confused feeling that had come over her in 
the meeting.

Drawing a deep breath, she entered the office and closed 
the door behind her. (No point in giving anyone the 
opportunity of listening in!) Time to get this over with.

"There she is!"

"Shh..." Brad elbowed Rodney in the side, concerned that 
his loud friend would give them away.

"Don't worry about it," Phyllis told him, her voice at a 
conversational level. "Baxter had this room pretty much 
soundproofed. There are microphones picking up what goes 
on inside the office, but nothing short of screaming will 
be heard on the other side."

Relieved, Brad turned back to the window.

Robert Baxter sat upright behind his desk, looking solemn 
and forbidding. News of his retirement had sent a flurry 
of speculation through the office, with the eventual 
consensus being that he was being put aside as too 
conservative for modern business practices. Too rigid; 
too hold fashioned. He certainly looked the party. 

At fifty-seven, Robert Baxter had the appearance of a man 
ten years his junior, with a stern, almost military 
posture, intense blue eyes and deep tan. Only his thin, 
yellow-grey hair gave any indication of his true age. 
Indeed, he would have been an attractive man, had it not 
been for a large, purple birthmark that covered half his 
face and a set of blackened teeth where gum disease and 
decay had taken their toll. 

Not only did this latter feature give his smile a 
lopsided rotting appearance, but the resulting halitosis 
- the younger employees called him 'dragon-breath' behind 
his back; the more experienced ones just didn't talk 
about him - made any sort of close up conversation with 
him a test of endurance. Rumour had it he left his teeth 
that way to give him an edge in negotiations.

Whatever the truth of it was, he was out. In three 
months. As a concession to his experience and position in 
the company, however, he had been given the power to 
choose his successor. Barbara had been the heir-apparent.

Until now.

"Ms Dahlton," he droned in his gravely, monotone voice 
after Barbara had taken the seat in front of him, "I want 
you to know that I was very disappointed in your 
performance in the meeting today."

Barbara stiffened.

"You were obviously unprepared for the presentation. You 
were an embarrassment to me and to the company. A student 
- even Carol Fawkner - could have done a better job."

Barbara felt her face go red. Sure, she had been a little 
slow, but...

"As you know, I will be leaving the company in a few 
months, and I have until now taken the position that you 
were the best person to take over my job." He looked her 
straight in the eye with his basilisk gaze. "Now," he 
continued, "I'm beginning to have doubts."

"Sir... Mr Baxter..." Barbara struggled to find something 
to say in her own defence, but the same murky, confused 
feeling that had sabotaged her performance in the meeting 
earlier that day had once again enveloped her. Her tongue 
felt thick and swollen, and her mind struggled in vain to 
grasp what was going on.

"Now," he continued, looking pained and disappointed as 
she stammered ineffectually, "I am going to take you over 
these figures you failed to explain this morning, and we 
are going to make certain that you do know something 
about your job." He leaned forward as he spoke the last 
few words. The smell of his breath washed over Barbara 
like a fetid tide. "Is that understood?"

Barbara, trying desperately to breath only out of her 
mouth, could only nod her head in agreement.

Phyllis chuckled nastily. This was better than she had 
expected. Worth getting fired for. The fat redhead fully 
expected to lose her job in three months time; either 
Barbara would fire her when she took over Baxter's 
position, or she would quit, unable to work for such a 
bitch. This bit of advance payback was going down very 
well.

Try as she might, Barbara found herself unable to 
comprehend the facts and figures on the paper in front of 
her. Damn it... she KNEW this stuff. Inside and out. 
She'd known it for years. But, no matter how hard she 
tried, she found herself completely incapable of 
discussing it with Baxter - the man whose decision it was 
who would become the next VP in charge of sales. 

Baxter had opened up the report and was taking her 
through it step by step, pointing out each section and 
asking her to explain what it meant and how it related to 
the overall sales figures and marketing strategy. And, 
each time, no matter how simple it was, Barbara stumbled 
over her explanation, giving the impression that she knew 
nothing about the report. It quickly became apparent to 
her that not only was her future promotion going down the 
tube, but so was her present job.

Upset by yet another failure to explain a figure, she 
looked over at her boss. As he had done a number of times 
already, he had stopped talking and was looking over at 
her. She looked back, but he wouldn't meet her gaze. 
'Pity,' she thought, 'he just feels sorry for...'

But that wasn't it.

His gaze had dropped down from her face to... to her 
chest. Surreptitiously, Barbara glanced downward. There 
it was... as she had leaned over the desk to look at the 
report, the top button of her blouse had come undone, 
partially exposing the upper swell of her breasts.

Baxter was staring at her breasts!

Just as she reached this realization, Baxter tore his 
gaze away from her and began talking again about the 
report. Barbara, however, had stopped listening. He had 
been staring at her breasts! A tiny spark of an idea - 
faint and tentative - flickered across her mind, quickly 
fanning itself into a full blown thought. Baxter had been 
staring at her breasts! Maybe... just maybe she could 
save her job and her promotion. 

Trying not to be obvious, Barbara brought her hand up and 
slipped loose another button. After stretching her 
shoulders slightly to expose as much breast as possible, 
she leaned forward to give him the best possible view.

Maybe... just maybe she could come out of this with her 
job and promotion intact.

"What's she doing?"

Rodney looked puzzled.

"I don't know," Brad answered excitedly, "but whatever 
you do, keep filming!"


Rodney, whose view of the scene in Baxter's office was 
framed by the four sides of the viewfinder on his video 
camera, nodded in silent agreement.

Baxter had stopped talking again.

It was working!

He was staring over at her chest again. Not knowing 
whether to laugh or cry at her success, Barbara lightly 
placed her hand on top of his where he was holding the 
report. Was it too much? Too soon? Barbara could only 
hope that she was playing things correctly. She'd had 
little experience in this or any other sort of seduction.

"Ms Dahlton... Barbara..." For the first time, Baxter 
actually seemed a little unsure of himself. A little 
uncomfortable.

"Yes?" Barbara smiled across the table at him, trying her 
best to look sexy. She knew that she was attractive - or 
could be with a little effort - but she had spent years 
playing down her physical appearance. She had learned 
early on in her career that men didn't respect attractive 
women; at least, not in the way she wanted to be 
respected. It was not easy now to try to overcome all 
that effort, but she was willing to try in order to save 
her promotion.

And her job.

"Barbara," he stammered, "I... this report..."

"Maybe," she told him, fighting to enunciate clearly 
through the fog that still enveloped her consciousness, 
"if you were to come around her and explain it to me?" 
Her voice sounded low and unnatural to her; how she 
imagined a voice might sound if it were sexy; inviting.

It seemed to do the trick. Moving quickly, Baxter stood 
up and came around to her side of the desk. He leaned 
over her chair and pulled the report across the desk so 
that it was right in front of them.

His hands were trembling.

"Now," he continued, trying to remain businesslike, "the 
market figures..."

Barbara tuned out his voice as she considered her 
position. Could she really go through with this? With 
that breath? If she didn't, she could kiss the promotion 
goodbye and probably her job as well. But if she did... 
well, maybe it wouldn't be so bad. A few kisses... maybe 
even sleep with him once or twice... He'd be gone in a 
few months, and, once she was safely in position as VP, 
she could get rid of him easily enough.

Maybe...

"And when the numbers are applied to future..." The 
droning stopped when she once again placed her hand on 
top of his.

"Barbara..."

Slowly, insistently, she pulled his hand off the report 
and guided it over to her breasts. He didn't help, but 
allowed her to slip his hand down the top of her blouse 
and over one of her breasts. She could feel the pulse in 
his wrist speed up as he - at last on his own initiative 
- squeezed her breast. She started to squirm away in 
discomfort, but quickly remembered what she was doing; 
and what she was trying to do.

Breathing heavily, Barbara leaned back in her chair and 
moaned in simulated passion as Baxter slipped his other 
gnarled hand down the top of her blouse and began 
fondling both of her breasts.

"I don't believe this."

The three observers stared, open mouthed with wonder, as 
Barbara writhed on the chair while Baxter popped open the 
front of her blouse, exposing her large, firm breasts 
beneath the thick cover of the utilitarian bra. The 
covering too was soon removed, as Baxter reached down 
behind Barbara and jerked it open.

"Nice tits," Rodney commented, as Baxter's hungry hands 
cupped and kneaded them. Phyllis nodded in agreement.

This activity went on for a few more moments before 
Baxter came around beside the chair, leaned down and 
brought his mouth onto Barbara's face.

"My god," Phyllis muttered. She had spent years dealing 
with Baxter's halitosis. "How can she..."

Barbara almost gagged with revulsion at his fetid breath, 
but nevertheless opened her own mouth to welcome his 
tongue. More than that, she actively kissed back, 
thrusting her tongue back at his, as he once again began 
to manipulate her breasts. It didn't hurt, really, but it 
was very uncomfortable. And humiliating. Nevertheless, 
job and promotion firmly in the front of her mind, 
Barbara moaned and grunted on the chair, just as she 
imagined she would sound if she were actually enjoying 
the activity.

This kissing and fondling went on for a while. Finally, 
it dawned on Barbara that she was to make the next move. 
Baxter was waiting for her. Panting with revulsion at the 
smell of his breath, she reached over with one shaking 
hand and began undoing his pants. That was what he had 
been waiting for. He dropped her breast - red and shiny 
from where he had been biting and licking - and helped 
her undo his pants. 

Within seconds, his cock - thick and covered with large 
purple veins - sprang free. Barbara immediately felt a 
kind of horrid fascination with this ugly thing as he 
guided her hand onto it. Tentatively, she grasped it as 
he wished and began running her hand along it, up and 
down... up and down. Almost immediately, a glistening of 
pre-cum appeared.

Barbara moaned, this time with real fear, as he pulled 
her off the chair and down to her knees in front of him: 
eye to eye with his cock. She knew what he wanted though, 
and she had already gone too far to back out now. Not if 
she wanted her job. And besides, she thought, slipping 
her mouth over Baxter's cock and sucking it in, his cock 
doesn't stink like his breath.

"Quite the little slut when her job's on the line," 
Phyllis commented, looking hungrily as Barbara sucked and 
slurped hungrily at Baxter's cock. The sounds were 
clearly audible through the microphones in the office.

"Oh no," Rodney laughed, still filming. "I'm sure it's 
love. Look at her go!" Phyllis smirked at this sarcasm.

Brad remained silent, his cock swollen in his pants. He 
was thinking of Carol; she should be here, seeing this...

Finally, Baxter reached his limit.

Roughly, he pulled Barbara's mouth off his cock, causing 
a long, glistening trail of spit and pre-cum to trail 
from her lips to the tip of his cock. He lifted her, and 
placed her down on the edge of his desk.

"Spread your legs," he mumbled, voice thick with lust.

"Oh... yes."

Barbara, frightened but determined to carry on to save 
her job, complied. She quickly slipped off her panties, 
pulled up her gray, business-skirt and leaned back across 
the desk, legs spread in obvious invitation and tits 
hanging free.

"Fuck me," she moaned.

Baxter needed no further encouragement. He leaned forward 
between her legs and drove his cock into her exposed 
pussy, burying it to the hilt with one powerful thrust. 
Barbara squealed with pain as the cock was driven into 
her still-dry pussy, but immediately turned it into a 
grunt of passion.

The job!

"Oh yes... yes... yes..." She moaned and bucked beneath 
her boss as he brutally fucked her on his desk, doing her 
best to give the impression of a woman overcome by lust 
as he sawed his cock in and out of her pussy. This, 
despite the fact that every thrust sent waves of pain 
through her raw pussy.

Fortunately, Baxter didn't last long. Within thirty 
seconds, he stiffened and grunted. Barbara, thankful that 
he was coming so quickly, wrapped her legs around behind 
him and began squealing loudly, as if she too were 
coming. The two of this held this position - him grunting 
and her squealing - for a good ten seconds before he 
suddenly relaxed, releasing his weight on top of her, 
passion spent.

Barbara too allowed herself to relax. It was over.

And maybe... just maybe, she told herself as she felt the 
first trickle of sperm dribble out of her pussy and down 
her ass crack, I've saved my job.

"This isn't gonna work."

Rodney was his usual optimistic self.

"Sure it will." Brad was confident.

But not that confident.

"It will, won't it?" He looked over at Phyllis who 
grinned and nodded in response.

"No problem," she told him. "I've been signing old dragon 
breath's correspondence for so long now, no one could 
tell the difference. Same with Susan." Susan Morrow was 
Barbara's secretary, and a close friend of Phyllis. She 
had her own reasons to hate her boss. "As far as anyone 
will be able to tell," Phyllis concluded, putting down 
the piece of paper, "the letters will be properly 
signed."

Rodney still looked doubtful, but he nodded his head. It 
would be so much fun if it worked...

*

Robert Baxter was not generally a happy man.

His career with the Company had been a long and 
successful one, but the end was in sight now, and he had 
discovered, to his surprise and trepidation, that he knew 
nothing else. The Company was his quite literally his 
whole life. He had started out as a young clerk in the 
mail room and slowly risen through the ranks until 
finally reaching his present position. It was quite an 
achievement. His success, however, had been achieved 
without the benefit of a formal education, and he had 
risen just about as far as he could.

Perhaps, he sometimes thought, too far. Perhaps they 
wanted a younger, more educated man in his post at the 
Company. Maybe that was why they refused to accept his 
offer to carry on past the legal age of retirement.

Six more months. That was all.

Bastards.

Barbara now... maybe she was different. Despite being a 
woman - Baxter was old-fashioned enough to consider it 
inappropriate for a woman to have a business career - she 
really seemed to appreciate his experience and wisdom. 
She, of all the bright, young executives who seemed to 
infest the Company boardrooms these days, seemed to 
understand and seek out his tutelage. It was true, of 
course, that she'd screwed up royally at the last sales 
meeting; she'd messed up a presentation a rookie could 
have spewed out with ease. But afterwards...

Afterwards.

Baxter was not a popular man with women. He'd been 
married once, but that had been so long ago that he had 
to page through dusty, yellowing photo albums to recall 
his wife's face. Since then, he had lived only for his 
career, only engaging in sexual relations to relieve 
physical needs.

Hookers, mostly.

But Barbara... well, she was a beautiful woman. He'd 
always found her attractive; indeed, that was one of the 
main reasons he had agreed to have her work in his 
department in the first place. The respect for her 
abilities came later. He had never, however, even for a 
moment thought that the attraction might be mutual. After 
all, he was over thirty years older than her.

Why would she want him?

Still, that seemed to be exactly what she did want. He 
had felt her eyes on him during the meeting, watching... 
sizing him up. Finally, he had been unable to resist it 
any longer. Perhaps it was the fact that his career with 
the Company was pretty much over that allowed him to 
break free of his usual reserve and make the first move. 
Maybe he just no longer cared about all those new "sexual 
harassment" policies. Whatever, it had proved to be the 
right thing to do. She'd melted into his arms, and had 
turned out to be - as they used to say when he was just a 
boy - hot as a two dollar whore.

It had been an exhilarating experience.

Still, he had felt more than a little nervous the 
following monday at the office. What would she say? How 
would she act? Would he find himself charged with sexual 
harassment? The answer came to him in the form of a note 
from Barbara.

A wonderful note. Hands shaking, he picked it up to read 
through it one more time. His eyes didn't even focus on 
the actual writing; by now, he knew every word of it by 
heart. By heart. Nevertheless, his eyes scanned the page 
eagerly...

***

'Dearest Robert, 

Last friday was so wonderful I can't begin to tell you 
how I feel. I know that I often put on a very hard, 
reserved front at work, but that is not the real me. 
Underneath, I am a seething volcano of sexual wants and 
needs. You are the only person at the company to have 
seen this in me. 

This is embarrassing to say, but after what happened in 
your office, I feel I can tell you anything. Please don't 
stop. I need sex and I need it every day. The rougher the 
better. Don't ask; don't take me out on dates or spend 
money on me; don't accept 'no' for an answer: just take 
me whenever and wherever you want. I find it particularly 
exciting when you talk dirty to me: call me a whore or a 
bitch - the dirtier the better.

I hope this letter has not scared you off. I don't think 
it will, as you are the first real man I have met at the 
Company.

Please don't show this letter to anybody.'

(signed) 'Barbara Dahlton'

***

That was her signature all right. He had seen it hundreds 
of times before on memos and reports and the like. Even 
with that, however, he could scarcely believe what he was 
reading.

But believe it he did.

After folding up the letter and slipping it into his 
briefcase, he reached over and punched the transmit 
button on his intercom. "Phyllis," he asked, "Please ask 
Ms Dahlton to see me in my office right away."

"Yes sir."

Impatiently, he leaned back in his chair to wait, one 
hand reaching down and absentmindedly stroking his rock 
hard penis...

*

Barbara stared down at the piece of paper in her hand, 
glaring suspiciously as if it might at any moment turn 
into some kind of poisonous viper and inject her with 
venom. A memo, or, more accurately, a note. From Baxter.

The bastard.

***

It read:

'Barbara:

You are a great fuck. I've been watching that hot body of 
yours prance around the office for years now, and I've 
dreamed of fucking it in so many ways that it'd make your 
head spin. Until last week, I didn't know the you felt 
the same way about me. You are one hot bitch, and now 
that I know it, we will be spending a lot of time 
together. As well as the fucking, I expect that our time 
together will help you prepare for your new position in 
the company after I am gone.

After reading this note, remove your panties and come 
right to my office.'

(signed) 'Robert Baxter'

***

And there is was: his signature at the bottom. She'd seen 
it a thousand times. Bastard probably had his secretary 
type it up, she thought. Suddenly enraged, she crumpled 
the sheet of paper into a ball and drew her arm back to 
toss it across the room, but she held onto it at the last 
moment. 

There was no way she was going to be taking any chances 
that this particular note would fall into anyone's hands 
other than her own. The consequences of this note being 
picked up and read by the cleaners... Well, that wouldn't 
happen. She carefully folded the note and put it into her 
purse.

The question now was what she was going to do about it. 
Looking back on last Friday, she found it difficult to 
believe that she had acted as she did in Baxter's office. 
In fact, the entire episode had a dream-like quality 
about it. Or, rather, nightmare-like.

What had she been thinking?

Still, it was done. And now she had to decide how to deal 
with the consequences. Barbara hadn't been as successful 
as she had in business by avoiding or denying problems. 
And this, most certainly, was a problem.

She considered the situation as clearly as she could. On 
one hand, there was the Company's policy regarding sexual 
harassment. She had no doubt that should she choose to 
reveal the note and make a complaint, Baxter would be 
"retiring" a little sooner than planned. There was no 
evidence of the sexual encounter in his office, and no 
one would take his word over her's in that situation. It 
was just too unbelievable. That was one possible course 
of action.

On the other hand...

On the other hand, her mind kept returning to that one 
phrase in Baxter's note: '...I expect that our time 
together will help you prepare for your new position in 
the company after I am gone.' That sounded like a 
promise; a promise and a threat: do what I tell you and 
you will get my position when I retire; refuse, and 
you'll remain where you are. If that.

It didn't take Barbara long to make her decision. Her 
career was everything to her, and if that was what it 
took to rise to the top... well, so be it. She wouldn't 
be the first woman who slept with the boss in order to 
get a promotion. And she wouldn't be the last. Besides, 
if she got friendly with Baxter, it might help her 
increase her influence in the Company beyond what it 
would already be. A little careful manoeuvring...

Her mind was made up.

Barbara stood, and, wriggling her hips a little, slid her 
panties down from under her long skirt until they lay on 
the floor at her feet. She picked them up and slipped 
them into her desk drawer. After taking a moment to 
straighten her hair, she walked out of the room and 
towards the elevator that would take her to Baxter's 
office.

*

She closed the door softly behind her. Once again, his 
miserable secretary - Phyllis, the fat cow - hadn't been 
at her desk and she had been forced to announce herself. 
'Once the promotion comes through,' she promised herself, 
'that bitch is history.'
 
There he was, sitting behind his desk; watching her with 
hungry eyes. She had never before thought of Baxter as a 
sexual being - god; what woman ever would? - but she felt 
it now. Sexual tension. How on earth had he known that 
she would go along with his note? Any reasonable, self-
respecting woman would have lodged a complaint within 
seconds of receiving it. 

Still... he evidently knew what he was about: she was 
here. She gave an inward shudder, a little frightened at 
being so easy to read. It was the ambition, of course. 
She wanted the promotion and would do just about anything 
to get it. She deserved the promotion.

Just about anything.

Consciously trying to be sexy, she walked steadily 
forward, hips swaying out a timeworn invitation. As she 
walked, she slowly ran her pink tongue along the outside 
of her lips. She felt more than a little embarrassed, 
carrying on in this manner, but it had the desired 
effect. Baxter's breath quickened as she moved towards 
the front of his desk. She didn't have a lot of 
experience with this kind of situation - this kind of 
blatant seduction - but she found that she was easily 
able to read the expression in his face.

In his eyes.

Lust.

He felt his cock harden behind the edge of the desk. He 
had never seen Barbara like this before: so sleek; so 
sexy; so hot. It was like something straight out of a 
Penthouse forum or something, and he just couldn't 
believe that this was happening to him. These things 
weren't real.

But it was.

Barbara reached the front of his desk and paused there, 
hands on hips. Baxter stared openly, his eyes taking in 
the taut bulge of her breasts as they strained against 
the front of her blouse - was she pushing her breasts 
outward?; the soft curves of her hips and ass under the 
grey, conservative skirt; and, most of all, the look of 
her face. She was not a great beauty, and was 
characteristically wearing little or no makeup, but with 
her lips slightly parted and the tip of her tongue 
sliding sensuously along her lower lip, she looked as hot 
as any slut. Any whore.

The note.

Almost too late he remembered: she wanted to be called 
certain things. Certain names. His throat clenched up, 
parched with lust and fear, but he choked out the words 
he thought - he believed - she wanted to hear: "Whore!"

Barbara flushed and began to breath a little faster. It 
was working! She really did like it! She really did. 
Feeling a little flushed himself, he rose quickly from 
his chair and moved around the desk.

She burned with anger and humiliation as Baxter swore at 
her a second time - calling her a 'hot bitch' - and then 
a third. What the hell did he think he was doing? As if 
his stinking breath wasn't bad enough, he treated women 
like...

Her train of thought was cut off as he came up behind her 
and shoved her against the desk. The breath was knocked 
out of her as she involuntarily bent forward, gasping at 
the sudden pain.

"Little slut," Baxter grunted, clutching at her breasts 
from behind. "Little whore."

She started to struggle as he roughly kneaded her aching 
breasts through the thin material of her blouse, but then 
held back. She had made her decision. She was here for a 
reason. Baxter's letter had made clear the consequences 
of non-compliance with his wishes. With the note as 
evidence she could certainly get her fired, but by the 
time the shit stopped spraying she would be out of the 
promotion. Best to play along; give him what he wanted.

For now.

"Oh yesssss..." she moaned, twisting and writhing under 
his grip. "Yesss..."

"Gonna fuck you bitch." Baxter leaned forward and 
whispered this in her ear. She almost gagged as his 
putrid breath washed over her face, but still she opened 
his mouth to accept his tongue. He kissed her long and 
hard, raping her with his mouth while his hands continued 
to maul her breasts. Moaning and gargling, she accepted 
his embrace, kissing back.

As if she were enjoying it.

 He reached down and hooked his fingers under the 
waistband of her skirt. With one tug, Barbara's skirt 
slid down and fell into a rough pile around her sleek 
ankles. He felt around for her panties, but there were 
none.

The bitch didn't wear panties.

She really was a slut.

No longer embarrassed or self-conscious, he began to 
mutter a steady stream of filth at her, calling her a 
'whore' and a 'bitch' and a 'cunt' and every other filthy 
name he could dredge up. It was clear that she liked it: 
her pants and moans got louder and more frenzied.

"Ahhh... ahhhh.... ahhhh yes...."

By now his cock was rigid with lust. Roughly, he kicked 
her legs apart and positioned his cock at the entrance of 
her pussy.

"What do you want, bitch?" he asked.

"What do you need?"

Her resolve weakened and almost shattered, but she held 
firm. She had come this far; might as well go all the 
way. And, her mind on the job - her reward - she answered 
in a soft moan: "Your cock. Please... please fuck me."

And he did.

"Well," Rodney muttered, eyes fixed firmly on the scene 
in front of him, "I wouldn't have believed it." He, Brad 
and Phyllis looked through the one way mirror at the 
scene which was being carried out in the office. Barbara, 
her large breasts hanging from the ripped-open front of 
her blouse, was leaning over the desk, being brutally 
fucked from behind by Robert Baxter.

"Ohhh... yes.... yessss...."

"She must really want that job," Brad commented. Both 
men's eyes were glued to the scene in front of them, so 
neither saw Phyllis unobtrusively slide a hand down the 
front of her skirt and begin rubbing herself.

In the office, Baxter was approaching his climax, and his 
pace increased, pumping in and out of the brutalized 
woman. From their vantage point, the three viewers could 
see the expression on Barbara's face - the grimaces of 
pain and hatred; the bright red of humiliation - but her 
voice gave nothing away. She panted and moaned and 
grunted just like some common slut.

She even, when Baxter finally came and pumped his wad of 
sticky cum into her unprotected pussy, whined and bucked 
on the desk like she too was coming. Phyllis, who had 
just had a real, albeit quieter, orgasm, pulled her 
sticky fingers from under her skirt and wiped them clean.

"Oh," Baxter moaned, sliding his now flaccid cock out of 
Barbara's sopping pussy, "you are one good fuck."

Barbara moaned in response, but didn't say anything.

*

The weeks passed...

Baxter was insatiable. Since the death of his wife many 
years ago, he had indulged only infrequently in any 
sexual relations beyond masturbation, and even then only 
with prostitutes. He just didn't have the time necessary 
for that sort of commitment. The job was everything to 
him: wife, lover, children... whatever. 

That was part of why he felt such a personal sense of 
betrayal at his impending forced retirement. It felt to 
him more like a personal rejection; more like a divorce. 
With only several months now remaining in his employment, 
he had already spent many nights examining his sorrows 
through the bottom of an empty bottle.

Barbara, however... well, she gave him new life; new 
energy. He had never met a woman like her before. She 
made him feel like a man thirty years younger, both 
mentally and sexually. He had always, although he had 
kept it well hidden, fantasized about taking some tough-
minded business woman and treating her like a common 
whore; degrading her; talking dirty to her; generally 
treating her like a slut. 

Of course, this had always remained safely a fantasy, 
certainly not something he would ever attempt. Baxter 
wasn't a particularly nice man, but he wasn't the kind of 
man to abuse an unwilling woman. As well, he had become 
grudgingly aware that women could be as competent as men 
in business.

He had gradually - no small part the result of the work 
of women like Barbara Dahlton - come to accept them as 
colleagues. This grudging acceptance did not, however, 
put a stop to the fantasies.

Then came Barbara. She was different. Special. It was her 
who had came on to him; it was her who sent him that note 
asking - no, begging - him to treat her like dirt. She 
genuinely loved to be degraded.

So that was what he did.

At every possible opportunity.

They had "lunch meetings" two or three times a week in 
which her only nourishment was his warm sperm, freshly 
sucked from his cock. There was a weekend "business trip" 
during which he fucked her seven times in two days, twice 
up the ass. Several times each week he would call her 
into his office and have her crawl under the desk to give 
him a blowjob. 

Once, his secretary, Phyllis, had walked in on them 
during one of these sessions. Baxter had just pushed 
Barbara's head down and held her hair so that she had no 
choice but to continue sucking while Phyllis completed 
her business in the office. That business, it had turned 
out, ended up taking almost twenty minutes, during which 
time Baxter came and Barbara had been forced to swallow 
as quietly as possible so as not to alert the busy 
secretary. 

Despite, or perhaps because, of the danger, Baxter had 
found the whole episode extremely exciting and was hard 
again before Phyllis left the office. Barbara had been 
forced to suck him off a second time.

After that, he made a special point of taking her in 
relatively public places: closets, empty boardrooms, 
storage rooms... She had protested at first, but he just 
called her a 'stinking slut' or words to that effect and 
that seemed to break down any resistance.

Besides, she seemed to like it as much as he did!

That was the best part.

After a while, Barbara got used to it.

More or less.

It ended up being just another unpleasant task which was 
required to get the job done. Sort of like being asked to 
leave the meeting to bring the client a cup of coffee - 
something that had occurred only much earlier in her 
career - or being forced to spend yet another weekend in 
the office trying to salvage yet another fuck-up 
perpetrated by one of her so-called "superiors".

And there were ways of dealing with it: always keeping a 
bottle of mouthwash in her desk drawer so she could 
gargle away the repulsive taste and smell of Baxter's 
cum; always being certain that she had a couple of extra 
pairs of panties available; a bottle of aspirin for when 
the pain was too great...

She never stopped being sickened and repulsed by the man 
and by what she was being forced to undergo in order to 
get this promotion, but she endured.

Inevitably, however, her work began to suffer. This 
didn't bother her too much, though. Her actions with 
Baxter were doing far more to secure the promotion for 
her than any amount of good work. Besides, there were 
others to do the grunt work. That stupid bitch Carol, for 
instance. She would be gone from the company in a few 
months, but why not make use of her while she was around?

In a couple of months, she would hold Baxter's position. 
Then things would change...

To Baxter, the future didn't look quite so good. He would 
shortly be retiring and, as if that wasn't bad enough, it 
had lately occurred to him that he had not provided for 
his future as well as he might have done. He was only now 
reviewing the numbers, and they added up to something 
less than a luxurious retirement. This only fuelled his 
resentment against the company. Fuel that eventually set 
aflame a spark of an idea.

What if...

*

"But that's embezzlement!" The words and outraged tone 
sounded incongruous coming from a half-naked woman who 
was stretched, legs spread wide, over the front of a 
desk. From behind her, Baxter grunted in agreement as he 
pushed his cock into her exposed pussy. Barbara bit her 
lip to keep from crying out in pain; that first 
penetration of the day was always the worst. Gradually, 
she felt herself loosening up as Baxter pistoned his cock 
back and forth. In and out.

"Yeah," he agreed, still fucking her, "but who's going to 
know about it? Between you and me, we control access to 
the accounts and receivables on the computer invoicing 
system. We could divert hundreds of thousands of dollars 
into our own accounts without anyone knowing about it, 
and then set it up to look like a computer error."

Barbara, rocking with the force of his thrusts, followed 
his line of reasoning. It seemed sound enough; with a 
little bit of work, the theft would be untraceable.

"But what if..." She stopped speaking and let out a 
little wail of pain as Baxter lurched forward with a 
particularly vigorous thrust. Instinctively, she turned 
it into a groan of mock lust. She was getting quite good 
at faking lust.

"No 'what ifs'," Baxter answered through clenched teeth. 
He was very close to coming now. "No one will find out. 
We'll split the money." With a loud grunt, he jerked up 
against her, slamming her chest and face down onto the 
desktop. Barbara's fists clenched tightly against the 
edge of the desk as she felt his cock swell up and spit 
cum into her pussy.

She groaned.

Another pair of panties.

After his breathing calmed down a bit, Baxter pulled away 
and did up his pants. "Well?" he asked, as Barbara slowly 
straightened up, wiping the thin trail of cum off her 
thighs with the inside of her skirt. "Are you in?"

Barbara thought quickly. She had never before considered 
embezzling money from the Company, but Baxter's analysis 
was accurate: between the two of them, they could get the 
money out and set things up so no one would ever suspect 
them. Really, it was too good an offer to pass up; it 
might even provide some compensation for the humiliation 
and degradation she was suffering at the hands of this 
asshole.

Maybe she could even find some way to pin it on him 
later.

"I'm in," she told him.

In the little alcove, Brad looked over at Rodney. "This 
is getting a little serious," he said.

Rodney nodded in agreement, his face glum.

"What do you want to do?"

Brad shrugged. "I don't know," he answered.

But he did know. A slow smile lit up his face. "But I 
think that things have gone far enough now that maybe we 
can help Carol keep her job here."

Rodney grunted and looked doubtful, but didn't contradict 
his friend.

*

"Ohmigod... I don't believe this!"

Carol covered her mouth with her small hands, blushing a 
pretty shade of red as she watched Barbara Dahlton take 
Baxter's cock in her hands and lather her tongue all over 
the swollen cockhead. The licking and slurping sounds 
were clearly audible through the microphones.

To say that this had all come as a surprise to her would 
be something of an understatement. Earlier that day, Brad 
Tymmens had come to her with a stack of computer 
printouts, a spreadsheet and an incredible story. An 
unbelievable story. 

The printouts had been simple. They had demonstrated a 
course of systematic tampering with the accounts 
receivable area of the firm's accounting system. 
According to the modifications, a percentage of certain 
amounts would never appear on the general accounts 
ledger, instead being rerouted to a private account. 

The spreadsheets had demonstrated the reason behind the 
modifications. For someone with Carol's education and 
intelligence, the story had been plain: someone was 
defrauding the company of tens of thousands of dollars. 
At least.

At first, Carol almost thought that Brad had been 
accusing her of the embezzlement. Her position at the 
Company was very precarious; everyone knew that she was 
to be "let go" after her one year contract was up, and 
apparently Barbara Dahlton - that bitch! - had spread the 
word that she was not to receive any assignments much 
more difficult than typing or filing. 

Carol had thus been surprised when, over the last few 
weeks, Barbara had been sending her some more challenging 
work, but she figured that Barbara was now so certain 
that Carol had no future in the Company it no longer 
mattered whether she got the work. That was why she found 
it difficult to believe when Brad told her that he was 
attempting to help her; once Barbara got Baxter's 
position, Brad's own job would be on the line.

Brad's story... well, that was something else altogether.

No matter how much Carol despised the older woman, she 
found it difficult to believe that she would sink so low 
as to sleep with Robert Baxter to get the promotion. No 
woman would do that. Even without the halitosis, Baxter 
was a repulsive old man. Besides, Barbara didn't need to 
go to such lengths; she had been up for that promotion 
for months. It was pretty much settled. Brad's story 
didn't make any sense.

And that was why, when she finally did let Brad talk her 
into accompanying him to the alcove outside Baxter's 
office, she had been so shocked to see Barbara Dahlton 
kneel down before Baxter to gobble hungrily at the man's 
cock.

"Whore," Baxter growled, grabbing at Barbara's thick, 
brown hair. "Cocksucker." Barbara moaned loudly and slid 
her lips down the length of her superior's cock.

Carol could feel herself blush as she stared at the 
sexual activity taking place in the next room. She was 
not a prude - nor was she totally inexperienced sexually 
- but she still felt a little embarrassed watching 
something like this. Particularly in the company of a 
man. Even more particularly in the company of a man to 
whom she felt a strong attraction.

Like Brad Tymmens.

With his dark hair and grey eyes.

Embarrassment aside, however, she felt a strong sense of 
fascination at the scene in front of her. Baxter was 
treating Barbara like dirt - like a lowly slut - and she 
seemed to love it! 

Every time Baxter called her a 'bitch' or a 'slut', 
Barbara seemed to moan with excitement. It seemed to make 
her hot. BUT CAROL KNEW IT WASN'T TRUE! Brad had told her 
everything, including how he and Rodney and Phyllis had 
tricked Baxter and Barbara into believing that the other 
one really enjoyed such behaviour. 

Baxter honestly believed that Barbara liked being 
degraded and treated in such a manner, while Barbara 
understood that she was to behave in a certain way if she 
wished to receive the promotion. In reality, Barbara 
hated what was happening.

And that, Carol realized with a small shiver of 
excitement, was exactly what fascinated her about the 
activity taking place in Baxter's office. Barbara hated 
it, but was being forced to submit regardless.

Almost involuntarily, the small blonde woman reached down 
and began rubbing her hand over her crotch.

"Bend over you bitch," he ordered. "Let's see some cunt."

Obediently, Barbara leaned forward over Baxter's desk, 
pulled up her skirt - no panties - and reached back to 
spread her asscheeks. Her pussy was clearly displayed.

Baxter reached down and began playing with it.

That was enough.

Brad had made his point. He turned to usher the younger 
girl out of the room, certain that she had seen more than 
enough. Poor girl was probably so embarrassed that...

He turned to speak, but quickly choked back the words. 
The "poor girl" was slowly running her hands up and down 
the outside of her skirt at crotch level, staring open-
mouthed at the scene taking place in the adjoining 
office. Her face was flushed, but not with embarrassment.

"Carol..."

Baxter teased and poked at Barbara's exposed pussy; he 
made a game of it, running his talon-like fingers up and 
down the outside of the woman's cuntlips for a few 
moments and then sliding them inside. Barbara twitched 
and moaned at his attentions, but didn't protest.

"Like it," he asked, voice hoarse, "don't you bitch?"

"Ohhh... yessss...."

Carol had never felt anything like it. Quite aside from 
her hatred of the older woman, the thought of another 
woman being forced to submit herself like this when she 
didn't want to was... well, for lack of a better word, it 
was delicious.

Delicious.

The small blonde woman felt herself going all warm and 
wet inside her own crotch as she watched her tormentress 
submit to having her pussy played with by the repulsive 
Baxter.

Carol had, quite simply, never felt such a rush of sexual 
pleasure.

"Carol..."

It was Brad. He could see her reaction to the events in 
the next room, but she didn't care. It didn't matter. He 
was the one who had set this all up; he was the one who 
had showed her this, and allowed her this chance for 
revenge.

Without hesitation, she threw her arms around his neck 
and brought her lips up to his in a passionate kiss. He 
resisted for a moment - surprised - but quickly gave way, 
melting into her embrace. Their tongue met and explored 
each other in a frenzy of sudden passion.

As always, Barbara had to fight back the urge to gag when 
forced to kiss the older man. As well as his breath, the 
feel of his cracked lips and slimy tongue in her mouth 
made her sick to her stomach. She held back, though. 
Baxter had set her up on his desk, and was now in the 
final stages of "foreplay".

"Wanna be fucked?" he growled.

"Yesss," she moaned in response, "Please fuck me."

It would be over soon...

"Fuck me Brad," Carol moaned.

She was sitting on the side of the small desk, legs 
spread and wrapped around Brad's own legs. Her arms 
encircled his neck, pulling him forward into her embrace. 
As they kissed, Brad had undone her top and unclipped her 
bra, exposing her small breast to his touch. The nipples 
sat, rock hard on her chest as he gently and then 
passionately ran his hands along them.

Carol reached down and undid her skirt. Brad stepped 
back, and she let it slide to the floor, where it was 
quickly joined by her panties.

"Oh Brad," she whispered as he undid his own pants...

"Unhh..." Barbara grunted in pain and discomfort as 
Baxter drove his prick into her pussy with one quick 
surge. She quickly turned it into a groan of lust, and he 
didn't notice anything wrong. Almost immediately, he 
began pumping his cock in and out of her unresisting 
pussy.

Barbara stifled a groan of pain.

Almost over...

Carol sighed with pleasure as Brad's penis slowly filled 
her pussy. The steady rhythm of movement against her clit 
sent waves of warmth and pleasure shooting up through her 
belly and into her breasts. Moaning, she once again 
wrapped her legs around behind him and began moving in 
time with his gentle thrusts...

The two couples came at the same time.

Carol and Brad picked up the rhythm and then pulled each 
other together into a tight, sweaty embrace as they each 
orgasmed simultaneously. Baxter stiffened and grunted as 
he dumped a load of sperm into Barbara's pussy. Barbara 
moaned and bucked as he came, trying her best to give the 
impression that she was coming. Baxter was fooled, but 
Carol, watching wide-eyed over Brad's shoulder wasn't. 
That fact - Barbara's faked orgasm - allowed her to come 
a second time, revelling in the humiliation of the woman 
who had been tormenting her for so long.

And it gave her an idea.

And so, as she and Brad slowly disengaged; as Baxter 
pulled his cum-soaked penis out of Barbara's sopping 
pussy and ordered the woman to clean it off with her 
mouth, Carol smiled maliciously at Brad.

"That was great," she said, running her hand through her 
lover's sweat-soaked hair, "but it's not enough."

"W-what do you mean?"

"All this." Carol gestured towards the adjoining office, 
where Barbara was busily slurping away at Baxter's cock. 
"The humiliation... it's great. But it's just the 
beginning."

"I don't understand." Brad was still in a bit of a daze 
from the sex.

"Don't you see," Carol asked. She pointed towards the 
pile of computer printouts and spreadsheets. "We've got 
enough there to put both her and Baxter away for some 
time." The blonde woman gave a smile that both frightened 
and attracted him at the same time.

"She's ours," Carol laughed. "Barbara belongs to us now."

*

By the end of the week, Baxter was no longer with the 
Company. No reasons were given; no memos were circulated 
or tributes made. When people came in for work Friday 
morning, he was simply not there and his office was 
cleaned out. Of course, rumours circulated. Stories with 
varying levels of credibility spread like wildfire, each 
allegedly coming from someone who had heard from someone 
"in the know".

But no one knew for certain. Barbara Dahlton, however, 
had a pretty good idea. At first she had been almost glad 
that Baxter had "disappeared". No more being forced to 
act like she enjoyed being with him. Then, however, the 
realization set in: if Baxter had been fired and/or 
arrested, she would be next. 

They had been running their embezzlement scheme since the 
beginning of the week, and well over $100,000 now sat in 
a special bank account to which only she had access. 
Somehow, someone must have found out about the scam. She 
was absolutely certain that Baxter had been taken by the 
police, and that she would be next. That was why, when 
the knock came on her office door at mid-morning, she 
almost jumped out of her seat. It was them.

The police.

No. It was Brad Tymmens and that little blonde bitch 
Carol Fawkner. Barbara frowned, angry that her secretary 
hadn't screened the visitors - where was Susan anyway? - 
but grudgingly let her two co-workers into her office. 
"What is it?" she asked. "I don't have much time." No 
point in spending her last free moments talking with 
these jerks.

Carol threw a manila folder onto Barbara's desk. "Take a 
look," she ordered. Barbara didn't appreciate the younger 
woman's tone of voice, but nevertheless obeyed. It didn't 
really matter much any more what...

Oh god! It was all there: computer printouts detailing 
the alterations to the accounting program; individual 
entries setting out the diversion of each sum to the 
private account...

Everything.

Barbara fought to retain her composure, but felt the 
sting of tears in her eyes as she looked up from the 
folder to the two people grinning at her from across her 
office. It was clear to her now: they had stumbled onto 
the scheme and brought it to the attention of the 
Company. Baxter had been arrested and she was next. The 
only reason she was still there was so that these two 
assholes would have a chance to gloat. Well, she wouldn't 
give them the satisfaction.


"Listen," she said angrily...

"No," Carol interrupted her, "You listen."

And she did.

Brad stood in silence, his admiration growing as Carol 
told Barbara just how things were going to be from now 
on. It was one thing to plan a course of action, but it 
was quite another to confront someone like Barbara face 
to face, no matter how strong a position one held. Brad 
didn't like to admit it, but he was a little frightened 
of Barbara. She had been above him on the corporate 
ladder for so long now, that he had difficulty imagining 
her being anything but his boss.

Carol though... she had some guts.

The plan had been entirely her own; he, Rodney and 
Phyllis had helped with some of the details, but Carol 
had come up with the idea. Brad had to admit that he had 
been fooled by her young, innocent appearance. The sex in 
the alcove had gone a long way to dispelling this 
misconception, and Carol's intentions for Barbara had 
completed the process.

It was blackmail, pure and simple. Carol had just over 
eleven weeks left with the company before her probation 
period ended. Eleven weeks until the process set in 
motion by Barbara saw her removal from the job. There was 
even no need to fire her; the terms of her contract had 
called for a review at the end of the first year of 
appointment. Unless the Company decided to renew her 
contract, she would be out of the job.

And, thanks in large part to Barbara, the prospects for 
renewal were bleak.

Carol's plan was simple. At the beginning of each of the 
remaining eleven weeks of her employment, Barbara would 
find a message on her office e-mail system. That message 
would contain a command or set of commands. Those 
commands were to be carried out without fail or question. 
Failure to do so would result in a certain package being 
released both to the police and to the members of the 
board of directors of the Company. A package containing 
explicitly proof of Barbara's involvement in the 
embezzlement.

 Barbara's eyes narrowed as she considered her options. 
It didn't take long: she didn't have too much in the way 
of options at that particular moment. She could either go 
along with this young bitch (and her idiot helper; musn't 
forget Tymmens), or she could certainly forget about her 
job; probably forget about her career; and very likely 
find herself in jail. The thought of jail made her knees 
tremble. She found herself gritting her teeth, biting 
back a flow of invective that would, in normal 
circumstances, be expected to reduce any subordinate to 
tears.

Eleven weeks... how bad could it be?

And, when those eleven weeks were over, Carol would be 
gone from the Company, and Barbara would find a way to 
get back at her. And Tymmens... he would very quickly 
find his position at the company eliminated.


At the very least.

Barbara made her decision: "Alright," she answered, 
glaring at the younger woman. "I'll do what you say. For 
eleven weeks; after that, it's over."

Carol nodded in agreement. Barbara stared at her face, 
trying to gauge her reaction. Other than a slight flush, 
the younger woman betrayed no emotion. Tymmens, on the 
other hand, nearly collapsed with obvious relief, sagging 
up against the wall. Barbara noted these reactions for 
further consideration.

"One more thing," Carol said.

Barbara turned her attention back to the young blonde. 
Now what?

"We know about the $120,000 embezzlement money in your 
account. We want that money."

"B-but..." Barbara sputtered angrily.

Carol ignored her incoherent protests. "I expect a 
certified cheque in my tray by the end of the day." This 
said, she turned and left Barbara's office, closely 
followed by Brad.

Barbara stopped arguing. They had her and they knew it.

But in eleven weeks...

*

WEEK ONE:
 
Barbara entered her new office and looked around. It was 
only temporary - Riker wanted to see how she did as the 
senior VP before he made a final decision - but she had 
no doubt that it would quickly become permanent. No one 
in the Company knew Baxter's job as well as she did. Now 
all she had to do was prove it.

There was still, however, the small problem of Brad and 
that bitch Carol. Barbara signed on to her computer with 
some trepidation. It was Monday, the first day of the 
first week of the eleven week period. Sure enough, a 
quiet beep from the computer signalled the existence of a 
new message. Barbara hit the "message display" command, 
and watched as the note scrolled across the screen.

The message was from Carol, alright, but its contents 
were a little puzzling. Barbara hadn't really been sure 
what to expect, but whatever she had anticipated, this 
wasn't it. Essentially, the note ordered her to show up 
at a local fitness centre, "Workout World", that evening 
at 5:00 and sign in under her own name.

Barbara shrugged her shoulders. It seemed a little weird, 
but it could have been worse. She checked her calender; 
she would have to reschedule a meeting, but she could be 
there.

Really, she had little choice.

The girl behind the counter at Workout World - an 
annoying little bimbo, Barbara thought angrily, annoyed 
because the client had kicked up a fuss at the 
cancellation of the meeting - punched the name into the 
computer. "Here you are," she announced brightly, "Barbie 
Dahlton. You're registered..."

"Barbie?" Barbara leaned over to read the name on the 
computer screen. Sure enough, it read 'Barbie'. "That's 
wrong," she growled. "My name's Barbara."

"Oh. Sorry." The girl seemed momentarily subdued as she 
typed in the correction, but had regained her bounce by 
the time she finished. "There," she smiled, "You're all 
signed up."

Barbara sniffed in annoyance. "What exactly am I signed 
up for?" she asked, barely keeping her anger in check.

"Aerobics," the girl answered, looking a little puzzled. 
"Monday, Wednesday and Friday nights and Sunday 
afternoon." Barbara started to interject, but the girl 
continued on. "And afterwards, you've set up a private 
work out with..." The girl checked a clipboard. "Trudy." 
She looked up from the clipboard and smiled. "She's very 
good!"

Barbara started to protest, but then fell silent. 
Obviously, Carol and Brad had gone to some lengths to 
enrol her in these stupid exercise classes. It was 
humiliating, being forced into it like this, but not 
really too much of an imposition. Hell... she had been 
thinking about getting into shape for some time now.


She turned to walk away.

"Barbara," the girl called after her, "you still have to 
pay for the sessions." Frowning, Barbara returned to the 
desk to pay. It was much more expensive than she would 
have thought, but well within the limit on her credit 
card.

Sighing, she entered the locker room to change into 
workout clothing...

*

WEEK TWO:

Barbara dragged herself into her office and flopped down 
on the chair. She had considered herself to be in 
reasonably good shape (for someone who didn't get much 
exercise), but a full week of exercise classes had taught 
her otherwise. Every muscle in her body seemed to groan 
with a deep, aching pain. That bitch Tracy had been 
particularly hard on her during that last session on 
sunday afternoon. She seemed determined to work every 
ounce of fat from Barbara's body.

Groaning with the effort, Barbara reached forward to log 
onto her office computer. It was monday morning, and she 
was expecting her next set of orders. Sure enough, the 
quiet beep from the computer informed her that there was 
e-mail waiting. She pushed the appropriate key...

Another surprise appointment.

This time at a beauty salon. Barbara frowned tiredly at 
the timing of the appointment: 3:30 that afternoon. She 
would have to cancel another client meeting. Resigned, 
she punched the speaker button on the intercom. 
"Phyllis," she ordered (she still had Baxter's old 
secretary, a detail she would be changing as soon as the 
position became permanent), "contact Mr. Spencer at Tri-
Sales; tell him that I'm re-scheduling the meeting until 
later in the week."

"Yes M..."

Barbara hit the "off" button before her the secretary 
could finish answering. Trying to ignore her aching 
muscles, she leaned forward to contemplate the pile of 
work on her desk: what to try to get done before the 
afternoon meeting?

Tammy Tuttle had grown up with Carol Fawkner. They had 
been best friends. Even when they had chosen completely 
different career paths - Carol went to business school 
while Tammy became a hairdresser and beautician - they 
still kept in touch. 

That was why Tammy knew all about Carol's problems with 
Barbara Dahlton. And that was why, when Carol contacted 
her with this strange request, Tammy had agreed to do it. 
Nothing weird, of course: the beauty parlour had a 
reputation. But Tammy's purpose was clear: she was to 
follow the instructions given to her by her friend Carol, 
and if the "customer" didn't like them... well, that was 
why Carol suggested that Tammy get payment in advance.

At premium prices. With a large tip.


Dahlton - the woman looked like as big a bitch as Carol 
had said - complained a bit at first. About the prices... 
about the fact that she had no say in what was happening. 
But Tammy just mentioned "Baxter's plan", as Carol had 
told her, and the woman had fallen silent.

Not that she was going to have any cause to complain, in 
Tammy's opinion. To her experience eye, Barbara Dahlton 
had "potential": nice, rich hair, but it was a mousy 
brown colour, and tied back in a bun; nice face, but 
looking a bit plain without makeup. Tammy's job, as given 
to her by Carol, was to change all that. She was to give 
the bitch a complete makeover: hair, makeup... the works.

Tammy smiled.

She loved a challenge.

Barbara fought back the temptation to pull away the towel 
that had covered her face for the last few hours. Ever 
since the cutting began, the little bimbo with the 
scissors had insisted that her eyes be covered. The towel 
had only come off when the girl had insisted upon 
spending what seemed to Barbara to be an inordinate 
amount of time applying makeup. 

Barbara tried to explain that she didn't wear that much 
makeup, but the girl just smiled and told her to keep 
still. After a while, Barbara stopped complaining and 
just sat quietly, all the time plotting revenge: on this 
little bimbo; on Carol; on Brad... on anybody!

After the makeup, the towel had been replaced, and work 
began again on her hair. After that, someone grabbed her 
hand and began doing something to her fingernails. 
Barbara lost track of time, but it must have been at 
least a couple of hours before she was allowed to look at 
herself in the mirror.

Barbara gasped at what she saw. Was that her face staring 
back, open-mouthed, in the mirror? She looked so... so 
beautiful and so... feminine. The hair was the first 
thing she noticed. It was blonde, a bright, almost 
platinum blonde. And it was no longer held in a tight, 
conservative bun. Instead, it flowed down the side of her 
face in thick waves, framing a luscious, heavily made up 
face. Not too made up - she didn't look like a whore or 
anything; but compared to what Barbara usually wore...

Tammy smiled down in satisfaction. Her first impression 
had been correct: the woman really did have potential. 
With the new hair and makeup, she looked really hot! She 
would turn heads anywhere...

She didn't seem too happy, though. More stunned than 
anything. Tammy watched, puzzled, as the woman looked 
herself up and down in the mirror; ran her hand 
tentatively through her new hair and then stared, almost 
in horror, at the bright red nail polish that covered her 
nails. Tammy had wanted to put false nails on, but Carol 
had vetoed that idea. 'Too much too soon,' she had 
laughed.

Tammy still disagreed.

The woman looked up at her. She seemed about to say 
something, but then closed her mouth and again stared 
back at herself in the mirror. Realizing that she was not 
about to receive any compliments for her work - good 
thing she had taken such a large "tip" at the beginning - 
Tammy started to sweep up around the chair. It was past 
closing time, and she...


Oh. One more thing. Tammy reached into her apron and 
brought out an envelope. "This is for you," she said 
shortly, handing the envelope to her silent customer. 
Miffed at the lack of appreciation, Tammy turned and 
flounced into the back room...

Barbara fought to hold back tears as she read. The letter 
was short and to the point: the way Barbara appeared now 
was to be her new "look"; she was to wear her hair and 
makeup that way in the office from now on. Any derogation 
would be severely "punished". Barbara shuddered slightly, 
imagining what that punishment might entail.

Still in a daze, she slid out of the seat and stumbled 
out of the beauty parlour. She was so upset, she failed 
to notice Rodney snapping a couple of pictures of her as 
she left the shop.

*

Phyllis hid a smile as Barbara hustled past her, face 
down, into the office and slammed shut the door. Carol's 
prediction had been bang on: the now-blonde hair was tied 
back in a bun and the makeup was still minimal. Still, 
the secretary couldn't help but shiver slightly with lust 
as she considered her new boss's body. The aerobics were 
working wonders. Now if only...

Well... time for that later. Shaking her head, Phyllis 
reached over and picked up the phone...

Carol couldn't help but smile as she strode down the 
long, office hallway. Barbara had acted exactly as she 
had predicted, ignoring the warning and trying to 
minimize the makeover. Well, Carol wasn't about to let 
that happen. She was enjoying this far too much to let 
her control slip like that.

Nodding to the smirking Phyllis, the blonde woman pushed 
open the office door and walked in.

"What are..." Barbara rose to her feet from behind the 
desk, angry at the intrusion, but she fell silent when 
she saw who it was. A look of fear replaced the anger. 
"C-Carol..."

Carol just shook her head. "Don't make any excuses," she 
ordered. "I don't want to hear it." She pulled a picture 
out of her pocket and threw it down on the older woman's 
desk. It was one of the shots taken by Rodney the night 
before. Barbara looked down at it in grim silence.

"Do you remember your orders?" Carol asked.

Barbara nodded silently.

"What were they?"

Barbara gulped, feeling her face go red with humiliation. 
"Uhmm... well, I... I was supposed to... to m-make myself 
up like... like last night..."

Carol nodded. "And if not?"

"T-then... then I was to b-be punished..." Barbara stared 
down at her desk, unable to meet the younger woman's 
eyes. She felt like a little child who had been caught by 
her parents doing something naughty.

"Fine," Carol said. "Now you've broken the rules and must 
be punished. Do you understand why?"

Barbara looked up, puzzled. "W-why?"

"Why you're going to be punished?" Carol explained.

The older woman shrugged helplessly. "B-because I 
didn't... didn't wear makeup..."

"Right," Carol nodded. "But more importantly, because you 
didn't follow orders. We had a deal, and you didn't live 
up to it. Now you have to pay the price. Right?"

Barbara nodded uncertainly. She hated being treated like 
this - like a child - but she thought that Carol might go 
easier on her if she just played along.

"OK." Satisfied, Carol walked around behind Barbara's 
desk and sat down in the chair. "Come here and bend 
over," she ordered.

"What?" Barbara lost a little of her fear and regained 
some of her earlier anger. There was no way she was going 
to...

"You heard me," Carol repeated. "You've been a bad girl 
and now you're going to be spanked."

"No," Barbara stated. "That's too much. You can't..."

"Alright," Carol interrupted. "If you want, I'll leave 
this office and not bother you again." She paused to 
stare the older woman in the eye. "But if I do leave, 
certain packages will immediately be sent to certain 
persons. I think you know what those are."

Barbara fell silent, realizing the depth of her 
predicament. Originally, she had half-expected that she 
would be able to bluff and bluster her way out of Carol's 
little "orders", but that didn't appear to be the case. 
She was stuck, and Carol knew it. Still... to be spanked 
in her own office...

Carol got up to leave.

Barbara couldn't let her go. She just couldn't. "Wait." 
Carol turned and looked at the older woman, waiting for 
her to say something.

"P-please," Barbara mumbled, face downward. "Don't 
leave."

"Why?"

Barbara drew a deep breath. "I... I need to b-be 
punished," she stammered, "P-please."

Carol nodded and walked back to the chair. Once she was 
seated, Barbara approached and knelt down beside her. 
Moving slowly, she leaned forward and...

"No," Carol told her. "All spanks must be on bare 
bottoms." Barbara reddened with renewed humiliation; 
every time it seemed that she had reached the absolute 
depths, things just kept getting worse. Still, she now 
knew better than to complain. It would only make things 
worse. She just pulled her slacks down to her ankles and 
then propped herself up over Carol's knees.

Carol began to run her hand over her boss's smooth, naked 
ass, admiring the smooth firmness. The exercises were 
working out well. "I think," she mused aloud, "that fifty 
smacks should be enough for a first offence. Don't you 
agree."

Fifty!

Barbara mumbled her agreement from her humiliating 
position.

Carol smiled. "But," she added, "I want you to count 
every stroke. Count them and thank me for them. Do you 
understand."

By now, Barbara was fighting a losing battle against 
tears. Chocking back the humiliation, she just nodded. 
She had no choice.

Satisfied, Carol drew back her hand and landed a vicious 
smack on one of Barbara's smooth asscheeks.

"Ahhhh...."

Carol waited. After a few second, Barbara spoke up in a 
small voice: "One. T-thank you." Carol couldn't help but 
smile as she brought her hand back for the second smack: 
the bitch even sounded like a little girl being spanked. 
This was great!

SMACK...

"Two. Thank you."

By the time the fiftieth stroke was completed, Barbara's 
ass was shining red with pain and Carol pussy was 
dripping. No time to waste: she wanted to go find Brad 
right now. She shoved the older woman off her lap and got 
to her feet. Barbara, her face wet with tears stared up 
at the blonde girl; she wanted to get to her feet - to 
pull up her pants - but she wasn't sure if she was 
supposed to do so. There was no way she was going to risk 
any more smacks. She just couldn't take that again.

Carol looked down at her. "I hope you've learned your 
lesson."

Barbara bit her lip and nodded. She had.

"I expect you to go home right now and fix yourself up 
properly. The next time I catch you at work without 
proper makeup and hair, it'll be forty strokes. Do you 
understand?"

Barbara nodded, eyes wide. There was no way she was going 
to let that happen. Ever.

Satisfied, Carol stepped over the prone woman and walked 
out of the office. Barbara clambered slowly to her feet 
and pulled up her pants, careful not to aggravate the 
pain. This done, she reached over and turned on the 
intercom: "Phyllis," she said, fighting to keep her voice 
steady, "I have to go to a... a meeting this morning. 
Please cancel my presentation."

Outside, Phyllis smirked up at Carol as they listened to 
this order. "Yes Ms. Dahlton," Phyllis answered, careful 
to turn off the intercom before bursting out in laughter.

*

WEEK THREE:

Hair and makeup perfectly in place, Barbara slipped into 
her office and closed the door. Another monday morning in 
this hellish few months that bitch Carol had planned for 
her. The previous week had been bad. 

After the humiliating (and painful) spanking, Barbara had 
taken extra care with her makeup and hair, making certain 
that they were always in perfect order, even getting up 
half an hour earlier to ensure that her appearance was 
adequate. She would not give her tormentor another chance 
to abuse her like last week.

The change in appearance had not gone unnoticed at work. 
Her new look had turned men's head with regularity, and a 
number of them had commented favourably. The women, on 
the other hand, had either been resentful or just plain 
amused. Of the two reactions, Barbara preferred the 
former. 

Most disturbing, however, had been the reactions of some 
of the men she was actually working with. Where they 
would have routinely deferred to her opinions before the 
makeover, they now seemed to treat her with something 
bordering on amusement. On thursday, she had blown up at 
a meeting, yelling at some co-workers who did not seem to 
be taking her presentation seriously. The men had just 
nodded, smirking, and then gone on with what they were 
doing.

And the clients: they were worse. They now seemed more 
willing to deal with her male subordinates than herself. 
On more than one occasion, she had learned that the 
customer had gone directly to another employee, usually 
someone subordinate to her, in order to confirm what she 
had told him. This infuriated her, but she didn't know 
what to do about it; she couldn't treat the clients the 
same way she treated her co-workers. Men just didn't take 
her seriously when she looked like she did now.

At one meeting, a customer had even asked her to go get 
coffee for him! Barbara had almost blown up, but in the 
end she had swallowed her anger and had left the office 
to order a secretary to get coffee. He was an important 
customer.

But still...

Like the first two orders, the third consisted of an 
appointment, this time at a store in a nearby mall. Once 
again, she was to go to the specified location that 
afternoon. She had anticipated the timing and had kept 
the afternoon clear. The only indication regarding the 
appointment was the rather ominous warning to "bring a 
credit card".

It turned out to be a clothing store.

Or, actually, a number of clothing stores and one shoe 
store. (After she'd finished up at the first, the clerk 
handed her a note directing her to another shop in the 
mall.) In each store, the procedure was the same. Someone 
- apparently Carol - had come in on the weekend and 
picked out a number of outfits which had then been 
packaged and prepared for sale. All Barbara had to do was 
show up, pick up the packages, and pay for them. By the 
time she was finished, Barbara had filled up three 
credits cards to their absolute limit and had bought more 
clothing and shoes than she would normally buy in a year.

The saleswoman in the final shop handed her an envelope. 
It contained detailed instructions from Carol regarding 
which outfits to wear, how to wear them, and when to wear 
them. By the time she had finished the shopping, it was 
too late to go back to work, so Barbara just took her 
purchases home to begin sorting them out. From the length 
of the instructions, there was a lot of sorting out to 
get done...

*

WEEK FOUR:

The clothing had turned out not to be as bad as Barbara 
had expected. In fact, it seemed to be very close to what 
Barbara would wear normally anyway. Certainly, she was 
being forced to wear skirts now rather than her usual 
slacks, but plenty of women wore skirts at the office. 
And the skirts were not particularly outrageous: except 
for Friday, they all reached down well below her knees. 

The one on Friday was a little shorter, just above the 
knees, but still nothing out of the ordinary. And if the 
men still stared... well, they were doing that anyway 
with the new hairstyle and makeup, and she was more or 
less getting used to it.

The shoes she was forced to wear were a little more 
difficult. They only had three inch heels - well within 
the limits of propriety, but more than Barbara was used 
to wearing. Still, she began to get used to them, and by 
friday was walking without difficulty.

Barbara punched the display button on her computer. She 
almost had to laugh at the new "order": chewing gum. She 
was to chew gum at work. It seemed kind of strange, but 
not particularly difficult or humiliating.

Almost smiling, Barbara rose from her chair, straightened 
her skirt - it was the one she had worn on friday; the 
shorter one - and walked out of her office towards the 
confectionary to buy some gum. There was no way she was 
going to get caught out again.

She'd show that little bitch!

Even Brad could hardly believe the change. In less than 
four weeks, Carol had managed to alter Barbara's 
appearance completely, changing her from an uptight, 
ultra-conservative businessperson into an extremely 
attractive woman. And the care with which it had been 
done... the hair and makeup had been a bit of a shock 
around the office, but the change in clothing had come 
about very subtly. 

The change was real, though: over the last couple of 
weeks, the long, conservative skirts had become gradually 
shorter and shorter. Now they barely reached down to 
within a couple of inches of her knees. The same with the 
high heels: first only a couple of inches; then three; 
and now four... Brad had to admit that Barbara had a 
great pair of legs. It was a pleasure to see them...

And the gum! It was the perfect touch, simultaneously 
making Barbara just a little less articulate - a little 
less quick to speak out and a little less clear when she 
did so - and giving her a somewhat coarse appearance.

Just a hint of sluttiness.

Exactly as Carol had said it would.

Carol. Barbara hadn't been the only person to undergo a 
change in the last little while. Brad was actually a 
little in awe - and perhaps somewhat frightened - of the 
young blonde woman. She had gone from a quiet, shy girl 
into... well, Brad didn't know how to describe her. Ever 
since their time together in the alcove beside Baxter's 
office, Carol had been very forceful.

Nowadays, he could barely keep up with her, in bed or out 
of it. And he had watched, at first in glee but later in 
some alarm, as his little plot against Barbara had blown 
up into a full-blown vendetta. Carol wanted revenge for 
the way Barbara had treated her and she was going to get 
it. It had all gone a little too far for Brad's taste, 
but still...

There was no denying that it was a hell of a lot of fun!

Jerry Chalmers watched longingly as Barbara walked by in 
her short, navy blue skirt and white blouse. What a 
woman! He'd only been working there for about a week now, 
but he had very quickly picked out Barbara Dahlton as one 
of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. There was, 
however, no chance of her ever noticing him, much less 
going out with him. He was only a stockboy, fifteen years 
her junior and with little education or training. They 
were at different ends of the corporate ladder, and it 
just wasn't possible...

"Not bad, huh?" Startled, Jerry turned to see Brad 
Tymmens grinning at him. The young executive had made a 
point of getting to know the new stockboy.

"Uhh... well." Jerry turned red.

Was he that obvious?

"Hey," Brad patted him on the shoulder, "Don't worry 
about out. She's pretty hot."

Jerry shrugged his shoulders in agreement, not trusting 
himself to speak.

"Listen," Brad continued, "I don't know if you've heard, 
but she's pretty easy."

"Huh?"

"You know... likes to... well, you know."

"I... I hadn't heard that."

"Sure." Brad lowered his voice and looked about. "Listen, 
I've actually got a video of her and another guy here in 
the office. It's pretty good; show's you the kind of 
thing she likes. Interested?"

Stupid question.

Jerry nodded.

"C'mon," Brad started walking down the hall. "I've got it 
in my office. You can borrow it if you like."

Jerry followed, not believing his good luck.

*

WEEK FIVE:

Barbara's jaws kept moving, automatically working away at 
the ever present stick of gum, as the latest set of 
orders scrolled slowly down the computer screen. There 
was the usual set of instructions for clothing - she had 
protested to Carol about that, claiming that this 
constituted more than one order. Carol, however, had just 
smirked and told her that she was free to do whatever she 
wanted. 

Barbara knew well the extent of this freedom; her ass was 
no longer bruised and sore, but the memory of the pain 
and humiliation remained. And so she continued to dress 
as ordered, occasionally picking up new items as 
required. In fact, she didn't even mind the shorter 
skirts now that she had become used to them. The four 
inch heels were still a bit of a problem, but they were 
not too bad.

The new order though... well, it was pretty much what she 
had been afraid of ever since the blackmail started. It 
was simple enough: she was to go to the stockroom that 
friday afternoon at just after 5:00 and seduce the 
stockboy.

Seduce the stockboy.

God... she didn't even know who was on duty that 
afternoon. If it was...

The phone rang.

"Ms. Dahlton," came an angry voice from other end of the 
line, "you're fifteen minutes late for the sales meeting; 
we need your projections." It was Riker, the head of 
sales!

"But..." Barbara fought for control. She was certain that 
the meeting had been scheduled for the afternoon. "Isn't 
the meeting..."

"The meeting started fifteen minutes ago," Simpson 
repeated. "Now get your cute little ass up here. Now!"

The line went dead. Frantically, not even noticing the 
crack about her 'cute little ass', Barbara called up her 
computer diary. Sure enough, it showed a meeting 
scheduled for 9:30 that morning. But she had just checked 
it on friday! Flustered, she got up out of her chair and 
moved to the door, stumbling slightly on the four inch 
heels. She would have to wing the projections, as they 
just weren't ready and there was...

Makeup!

Upset, Barbara paused at the door and then headed back to 
her desk. Moving as quickly as she could, she took out 
the small mirror she now kept in the top desk drawer and 
checked her hair and makeup; there was no way she was 
going to let Carol catch her with her appearance anything 
less than perfect.

After a few minor adjustment, she replaced the mirror and 
then left her office.

Phyllis smirked as her boss padded down the hallway, eyes 
fastened on her boss's swaying ass. It had been a simple 
matter to change the computer diary.

Carol's idea.

Of course.

That girl was really something. Cute, too. Very nearly as 
attractive as Barbara was turning out to be...

*

Jerry worked slowly, shelf by shelf, making certain that 
each area was fully stocked. He was still fairly new at 
the job, so he had to take care over where he put things; 
wouldn't do to get fired. Jobs were too hard to come by. 
Besides...

"H-hi."

Jerry turned, startled. He hadn't heard anyone come in, 
and the office was usually empty by this time friday 
afternoon. Oh god! It was...

"M-ms. Dahlton," he stammered. "I didn't hear you..."

"Please," Barbara told him, her voice low. "Call me 
Barbara."

"Uhmmm... alright," Jerry agreed quietly, "Barbara."


Jerry's eyes narrowed as he watched the beautiful blonde 
walk slowly towards him. She looked great in her short 
skirt, high heels and light blouse; even better than in 
the video...

The video!

How could he have forgotten it? He had certainly watched 
it often enough. He'd even made his own copy before 
giving it back to Brad. In his mind's eye, Jerry was no 
longer watching the Barbara Dahlton who was standing in 
the stockroom; he saw the hot bitch who had bent over 
Baxter's desk, whimpering and groaning like some common 
street-slut. He heard the small cries of lust and the 
flush of pleasure that came over her when Baxter had 
called her a "whore" and a "bitch".

"How are you d-doing?" Her voice snapped him back into 
the reality of the stockroom. This Barbara Dahlton looked 
a lot different than the one in the video - blonde hair, 
different clothing - but in many ways... in many ways she 
seemed the same. The same woman who had gone down on 
Baxter so enthusiastically. The same woman...

Jerry was startled from his chain of thought as she put a 
hand on his shoulder. Her bright red nails stood out on 
his grey shirt. "It must get lonely in here," she said, 
her voice low, "especially after everyone else is gone 
home." He felt his insides turn to jelly. She was trying 
to seduce him.

She really was. Trying to seduce him.

He swallowed. What should he do? He knew next to nothing 
about women. But...

How would Baxter have acted?


OK. Give it a try. All or nothing.

"Alright bitch," he growled, voice almost breaking with 
tension. "I know what you want."

Barbara's eyes widened with shock. He sounded just 
like... just like that bastard Baxter! Were all men 
like...

Her train of thought was cut off as the young stockboy 
reached around behind her neck, pulled her face forward 
and kissed her savagely. Frightened, she resisted for a 
moment, but quickly gave in and melted forward into his 
arms: this was what she had come here to do.

Closing her eyes, she began to kiss back...

Despite everything he had seen in the video, Jerry had 
still expected disaster when he grabbed at her. That 
hadn't happened though; instead, she had fallen forward 
and returned his kiss. With that single returned kiss, 
Jerry knew - he knew - that he could do no wrong. She 
wanted it, and wanted it hard.

The whore.

Roughly, he pushed her away, breaking the kiss. He stood 
panting for a brief moment before reaching forward, 
grabbing the top of her blouse, and ripping it away.

"H-hey..." she cried, startled, trying to back up.

Jerry just laughed. He took hold of the front of her bra 
and snapped it off with a pull of his wrist. Off balance 
on the heels, Barbara stumbled forward into his arms. The 
stockboy immediately took a hold of one of her tits and 
squeezed it.

Hard.

Barbara let out a wordless cry of pain, but didn't try to 
pull away as she was too busy trying to regain her 
balance.

"You little bitch," Jerry growled. "You wanna get 
fucked?"

Barbara, once again steady on her feet, could do nothing 
other than nod. That was what she was here for: to get 
fucked. And the sooner she got it over with...

Satisfied with her answer, Jerry through his hands around 
her waist, lifted her and sat her down on a low shelf. He 
continued to maul her breasts with one hand while with 
the other he spread her legs and reached up under her 
skirt.

No panties.

Jerry laughed: "Jeez. You really are a little slut."

He pushed her legs apart and then reached down to undo 
his zipper...

Barbara, perched precariously on the shelf, kept her legs 
spread and hunched her lower body to facilitate access to 
her pussy. She didn't know why... couldn't explain it, 
but somehow she was actually beginning to become aroused. 
If she had had the time to consider it, she would 
doubtless have felt humiliation at her unwilling arousal, 
but she didn't have that time. Her mind was racing, half 
with panic and half with arousal, and all she knew was...

Jerry pushed her legs even further apart and jammed his 
cock into her pussy with a single, brutal thrust. Barbara 
groaned with pleasure at the feel of his cock sliding 
into her pussy. Oh god... it felt...

"Slut. Whore. Bitch..." Jerry grunted epithets as he 
fucked her, punctuating each thrust with an insult.

It drove Barbara wild! Taking advantage of the 
flexibility she had been learning in her aerobics 
classes, she wrapped her long, sleek legs around behind 
Jerry's ass and began fucking back at him, all the time 
moaning and whimpering in abandon, feeling for real what 
she had been playing at with Baxter. She didn't 
understand why she felt this way, but she couldn't help 
it.

Unfortunately, Jerry stiffened and came within a couple 
of minutes. His sanity seemed to return with his orgasm, 
and he quickly pulled out, wide eyed at the sight of Ms. 
Dahlton, legs spread and pussy clearly visible, humping 
blindly at the place where his cock had been.

"Uhmmm... uh..." There was nothing he could say. He just 
did up his zipper and rushed from the room.

Behind him, Barbara slowly came down from her near 
orgasm. She sat there, panting, for about thirty seconds 
and then slid off the shelf to her feet. It wouldn't do 
to get caught in that position. As she walked across the 
stockroom, she caught sight of herself in a small mirror: 
her makeup was smudged and hair all of over the place! 

Frightened that she might run into Carol, she slipped out 
the stockroom and practically ran, as best she could on 
the heels, all the way to her office. Once inside, she 
took out the mirror and various implements and spent the 
next ten minutes[C repairing her appearance.

And wiping off the thin trail of sperm on her inner 
thigh.

Then, once again immaculate, she left the office and went 
home for the weekend...

*

Carol stretched, lazy and catlike, her small, white foot 
extending from beneath the thick quilt. "So," she asked, 
yawning contentedly in the aftermath of the lovemaking, 
"Jerry was pretty excited?"

Brad snorted. "Excited isn't the word," he answered. "You 
couldn't get him to shut up about it. Most of the office 
has probably heard about it by now." He got up off the 
bed and padded, naked, towards the bathroom.

Carol watched him go, hungrily eyeing his ass. Less than 
ten minutes after a long fuck session, and she was ready 
to go again! Must be all this talk about Barbara, Carol 
reasoned. A small, delicious shiver ran through her body 
at the thought of what she... what they were doing to 
that bitch.

Carol's thoughts were interrupted as Brad came out of the 
bathroom. She looked hopefully towards his crotch as he 
came back into the room, but was disappointed. He had put 
on a robe.

Damn.

Ah well. Back to Barbara...

"So you think everyone knows about it?" she asked.

"Probably," Brad told her, sitting down on the edge of 
the bed. "Word gets 'round."

"Good. The more people the better."

Brad shrugged. "Well, one thing's for sure. She won't be 
going into the stockroom again anytime soon."

Carol just smiled. "We'll see about that." Her pussy was 
getting wet just thinking about what had happened to 
Barbara in the stockroom. And what was still to come.

The couple fell silent for a moment. Brad looked at the 
floor. "Actually," he said, "I've been meaning to ask you 
something."

Carol looked over at him, waiting. "I mean," he 
explained, "I know you hate Barbara and everything... and 
you've got reason. But... but, well, how far are you 
going to go with this thing? I feel..."

"How far?" Suddenly angry, Carol sat up in the bed. Brad 
started to look away, but his attention was captured by 
her breasts, small but firm. Perfect. "In case you've 
forgotten, I'm going to lose my job in a little over a 
month. Thanks to that bitch! I don't think that I will 
have gone too far until..."

"No, I don't mean..."

Carol stopped in mid-rant, suddenly deflated. "Sorry," 
she said quietly. "I just get so angry sometimes."

Brad leaned over and gathered her into his arms. "That's 
OK," me murmured, resting her head on his shoulder. "I do 
understand. It's just that I heard about Baxter 
yesterday, and..."

"Baxter?" Carol pulled away and looked him in the face. 
"What happened with Baxter?"

"Didn't you hear? He had a heart attack. He's dead."

Carol fell silent, stunned at the news. Brad watched her 
as she turned away; as she looked down; as her shoulders 
began to shake silently...

"Carol..."

Carol turned to him.

She was laughing.

"Carol?"

"Don't you see," she asked, laughter dying down. "It's 
perfect. I needed just one more thing to finish her 
off... and that's it. It's perfect."

The young blonde woman started laughing again.

Brad just looked at her, uneasy.

What was she talking about?

*

WEEK SIX:

Another trip to the beauty salon.

Tammy was a little happier with the result this time. 
Still no artificial nails, but by this time her 
"customer's" natural nails had grown out a fair bit - 
Barbara had been forbidden to cut them - so the nail 
polish looked a little more appropriate. 

Tammy also liked the colour a bit better: a nice hot 
pink, which perfectly matched the new colour of lipstick. 
And, as per instructions from Carol, Tammy had laid 
things on a little heavier this time: a little more 
makeup; a more metallic blonde hair colour; a slightly 
wilder hair style.

Barbara hadn't said anything through the entire session. 
She just sat there, staring straight ahead while Tammy 
worked. A little spooky, Tammy thought, but what the hey?

The money was good.

Barbara pursed her lips, examining her makeup in the 
mirror. Everything looked in place. The new lipstick was 
a little tarty for her taste, but it wasn't like she had 
a choice.

Only another five or so weeks...

She turned just as the door opened. It was Carol of 
course; the bitch never announced herself. And Phyllis 
was no use whatsoever; once the eleven weeks were up...

"Well," Carol smiled approvingly, "I must say, you look 
quite something. Quite the little slut."

"What do..."

Carol just laughed. "Don't start bitching at me. You got 
off easy this week. A simple trip to the beauty parlour 
is hardly a problem for a girl like you."

Barbara quit trying to protest. She couldn't figure out 
what the hell the blonde woman was going on about. Best 
just to shut up and listen. Besides, she *had* gotten off 
easy this week.

"Anyway," Carol continued, "I need you to pick up some 
stuff for me from the supply room." She put a piece of 
paper on Barbara's desk. It was a list of numerous office 
supply items.

"Ask a secretary," Barbara snapped. "Get Phyllis to do 
it. It's not like..."

Carol silenced her with a stare. "I'm asking you."

Once again, Barbara fell silent. "Yes Carol," she 
acquiesced quietly. Best to go along with it.

Only five more weeks...

Barbara was extremely conscious of the shortness of her 
skirt as she bent down to pull some supplies from a 
shelf. It hadn't been obvious, but the skirts had been 
getting steadily shorter. The one she was wearing today 
must have been a good eight inches from her knees, not so 
bad when she was sitting behind a desk, but definitely an 
embarrassing disadvantage when bending over. Luckily, she 
was alone in the stock room. Sighing, she bent over and 
reached across the shelf. It would have been better to 
have gone around to the other side, but if she could just 
reach...

Barbara was startled to feel a hand on her ass.

"Hey!" Shocked and alarmed, she tried to back up, but 
there was someone standing directly behind her, blocking 
her path and trapping her as she stood, bent at the waist 
with her upper body stuck between two shelves. "What are 
you... what's going on..."

No answer.

Or at least no verbal answer.

A hand reached around under her chest and roughly 
squeezed her breast. "Noooo...." Barbara was now 
beginning to panic: WHO WAS DOING THIS TO HER??? 

Frantically, she tried to twist her upper body, 
attempting to turn her face and get a look at the person 
who was abusing her. Just as she did so, however, a piece 
of heavy cloth was dropped over her head: someone's 
jacket? She tried to grab ahold of it to pull it away, 
but her wrists were taken and fastened to the railings at 
either end of the shelf. She was now blind and helpless, 
bent in two with her ass hanging over one end of the 
shelf and her face over the other.

Her panicked cries were muffled by the jacket as she felt 
her short skirt being rolled up her legs until her ass 
was completely exposed. A pair of hand grabbed her 
panties - the pink, frilly ones, as ordered by Carol - 
and yanked them free. Angrily, she tried to kick back at 
her tormentors, but her ankles were quickly tied about 
three feet apart to the lower rails of the shelf.

"You bastards," she yelled from beneath the jacket. 
"I'll... umph..." Her cries were cut off as a hand 
reached under the jacket and rudely stuffed a small 
bundle of cloth into her open mouth. Her sense of smell 
told her what it was: her panties. "Hmmmm..." She tried 
to push the foul tasting cloth out of her mouth, but a 
hand was held over her mouth, holding them in.

Barbara was beginning to panic in earnest now. She felt a 
finger between her legs... squeezing... pressing... She 
tried to close her legs, but the bindings at her ankles 
kept them spread. She was totally helpless.

Exposed.

"Hah," came a male voice, "The slut's already wet. Little 
whore really wants it."

Barbara felt her face burning beneath the jacket. It was 
true; for some reason, her pussy was moist. No matter how 
hard she tried, she couldn't keep her body from betraying 
her. And the language they were using... calling her a 
"bitch" and a "whore"... With every new epithet, she felt 
a shiver of pleasure run through her.

Just like last week with Jerry.

Jerry! She *did* recognize the voice. It was...

Her thoughts were interrupted as a thick cock was 
inserted into her exposed pussy and buried inside with 
one brutal shove. She squealed and rocked forward, trying 
to jerk away from the cock, but it was no use; she was 
trapped by the shelves. All she could do was stand there, 
bent over at the waist, as she was raped from behind. The 
man pistoned his hips back and forth, riding his cock in 
and out of her now sopping pussy. In a way, she felt 
almost grateful for her arousal; the lubrication spared 
her a lot of pain.

Pain.

A hand slapped the side of her ass, causing her to buck 
and screech in shock. "C'mon bitch," the voice said. 
"Fuck me back. I know you like it." The hand came down 
again, sending a shiver of pain and... and pleasure 
through her body. Slowly, and then with greater energy, 
she began to fuck back against the cock, sliding her hips 
back and forth as she felt her own arousal building. 
"Uhh... Uhhh... Uhh..." She began to grunt in time with 
the thrusts.

After a few moments, the man behind her stiffened and 
came, shooting his load of sperm straight into her pussy. 
Barbara moaned with frustration as he pulled out; she was 
so close! She heard laughter in the room - how many men 
were there? - as she futilely bucked her sweaty ass back 
against the air. She must have looked ridiculous, but she 
didn't care. "Please..." she moaned through the soggy 
panties. "Please..."

Her muffled wish was quickly granted as another man came 
up behind her and jammed his cock up her pussy. She 
squealed, this time with pleasure, and began vigorously 
fucking back at him. As she did so, she felt the hand at 
her mouth pull away, taking the sopping panties with 
them. Barbara opened her mouth to groan, but it was 
immediately filled with cock. She tried to push it away, 
but her wrists were firmly fastened to the shelves. All 
she could do was suck at the cock and try not to gag.

The sudden intrusion of the cock in her mouth momentarily 
threw off the rhythm of her arousal, but she soon picked 
it up again. Moaning with lust, she bucked back against 
the cock buried in her pussy and sucked hungrily at the 
cock in her mouth. Her first orgasm came about thirty 
seconds later, a mind numbing burst of pleasure which 
left her gasping for more.

The two men came at the same time, simultaneously pumping 
sperm into her mouth and pussy. She swallowed as fast as 
she could, but was unable to prevent the hot jism from 
bubbling over her lips and dribbling down her chin.

Both cocks pulled away and were quickly replaced.

By the end of the session in the storeroom, she must have 
fucked at least a dozen guys (or, maybe, fewer than a 
dozen and some of them twice; it was impossible to tell). 
After the first few, she had sunk into some kind of 
sexual daze where she had remained for most of the 
session, grunting, bucking and panting like some kind of 
wind-up sex doll. The only exception had been when they 
had begun fucking her in the ass rather then in the 
pussy. The pain had momentarily woken her from her daze, 
but after the first couple of ass fucks, she no longer 
felt it.

Nothing but orgasm... after orgasm... after...

When she finally regained her senses, she was lying on 
the floor of the storeroom, her ankles still tied to the 
lower railing of the shelves. Moving stiffly, she had 
untied herself and staggered to her feet. Fortunately, 
her clothing was still pretty much intact, albeit cum-
stained, and she was able to repair her general 
appearance. After wiping away as much of the sperm as 
possible with the inside of her skirt, she left the 
storeroom and walked as quickly as possible to her 
office.

She would have to repair her makeup as soon as possible. 
Couldn't let Carol see her like this...

Phyllis looked up, quickly hitting the ENTER key on her 
computer, removing her boss's electronic diary from the 
screen. Barbara, hair and makeup repaired, but still in 
something of a daze, walked past and into her office, not 
even acknowledging the secretary's existence. Behind her, 
Phyllis stared at the closed door with a curious mix of 
longing and anger. "Steady girl," she muttered under her 
breath. "You'll get your chance."

A quick glance through the window revealed that Barbara 
was not using the diary - she had not even turned on her 
computer. Phyllis smirked and called it up on her screen. 
There was an important meeting tomorrow.

A few more changes and...

*

"...and I just don't have time for this," he stated, 
almost shouting in anger. "You've been cancelling these 
meetings for the last couple of weeks, and I finally get 
a chance to see you and you don't bloody show up!" Harold 
Simpson slammed his beefy fist down on the boardroom 
table, frustrated and angry. "And now you tell me that 
the report I specifically came here to get won't be ready 
till next week."

Barbara fought to hold back the tears. "I'm so sorry Mr. 
Simpson," she apologised frantically. "I thought that the 
meeting wasn't until..."

"Bullshit!" The enraged client heaved his considerable 
bulk up out of his chair and began pacing. "I called your 
secretary yesterday. She confirmed the meeting."

"But..."

"I'm sick of excuses."

Barbara fell silent.

Simpson looked over at her and sighed. She used to be one 
of the best business contacts he had ever worked with: 
tough, smart, hard working. But now...

He had been shocked at her new appearance when she had 
stumbled into the meeting almost forty-five minutes late. 
The platinum hair; the pink lipstick; the short skirt and 
high heels... she looked more like some bimbo secretary 
than the tough businesswomen he remembered. 

At first he had assumed that the changes were just 
cosmetic - that she had just gotten a new boyfriend or 
something like that - and was still as efficient as ever. 
But that assumption had proved wrong. And he just 
couldn't risk leaving his business to someone like that.

"Barbara," he said, "I'm sorry, but this meeting is over. 
I'll be calling Riker this afternoon and arrange to get 
my files transferred back to my office."

Barbara just stood there, stunned. Simpson was firing the 
firm! Oh god... he was one of their biggest clients. 
Riker would fire her for sure!

"Please... Mr... Harold," she said, walking slowly 
forward. "Give me another chance. It won't happen again."

Simpson just shook his head. "I'm afraid not," he 
answered. "It's just too..."

He broke off speaking just as she came up to him. In a 
flash of insight, she understood why: it was her. He was 
attracted to her; wanted her.

Wanted to fuck her.

Her first reaction was one of nausea. Quite apart from 
her firm policy not to get involved with clients - and 
Simpson wasn't the first to be interested - Harold 
Simpson was far from an attractive man. He was grossly 
fat, with a red, jowly face and receding hairline. But 
still... he was one of the Company's oldest and richest 
clients; a client the Company could not afford to lose. 
That loss would spell the end of her career, and she had 
gone through so much - eight weeks of hell, thanks to 
that bitch Carol - to keep her job and get the promotion.

And how bad could it be? She'd already fucked half the 
guys at the office?

Forcing a smile onto her beautiful face, Barbara moved 
right up to the angry client. He tried to say something, 
stuttering impotently, but she shushed him with one, 
brightly painted fingernail on his lips. "It's alright," 
she purred. "You don't have to say anything. I know what 
you need."

She leaned into him and brought her lips up to his mouth. 
His lips were thick and soft... and wet. She almost 
gagged at the feel of him, but at the same time felt a 
thrill of lust run through her body. She didn't 
understand it, but counted it a blessing as he opened his 
mouth and sucked hungrily at her tongue. How else could 
she possibly go through with this?

After a long, sensuous kiss, she slowly sunk to her knees 
in front of him, her fingers pulling down his zipper and 
carefully coaxing his slug-like cock free from his 
trousers. He gasped and then leaned back against the 
boardroom table as Barbara's hot mouth engulfed his cock 
and began sucking.

Perhaps, he thought, he should reconsider his decision to 
fire her. She may not be much use for business any more, 
but the beautiful bitch certainly had her uses...

*

WEEK NINE:

This couldn't be happening.

It just couldn't.

She had come into the office that monday morning, 
wobbling a bit on her new stiletto heels, but still 
feeling pretty good. The end was in sight: just a couple 
more weeks. And not only did she still have her job, but 
Riker had indicated to her that he expected the promotion 
to become permanent in the near future. Apparently, 
Simpson been very... enthusiastic about working with her. 
She shuddered a bit, not the least because of the memory 
of her own reactions the fat bastard had...

Well, best not to think about it.

The letter had been on her desk when she had arrived, 
sitting beside a steaming cup of coffee. Phyllis must 
have brought it in, Barbara had mused, taking a long sip 
as she reached for the letter. She had opened it 
immediately and scanned its contents, wanting to delay 
the inevitable moment when she would turn on her computer 
and read that week's orders.

To say that the news was a shock would be an 
understatement. She almost swallowed her gum as she 
collapsed back into her office chair. Baxter was dead! 
That was enough, but there was more. Much more...

Panicking, she reached over and punched the desk 
intercom. "Phyllis," she ordered, "get Fawkner and 
Tymmens. Tell them to get to my office right away."

Heart racing, she leaned back in her chair to think. 
Those assholes had gotten her into this mess, and they 
could bloody well get her out of it. If not, she'd make 
certain to take them down with her...

Brad slumped back against the wall, biting his lip with 
worry, while Carol paced angrily back and forth in the 
office. Only Barbara, sitting calmly at her desk, seemed 
unmoved. This was, however, an illusion; inside, she was 
bleakly reviewing the destruction of her hopes and plans. 
There was no doubt about it: she was going to jail. The 
money was gone. Those four words...

"Suing?" Carol had been flabbergasted, staring at the 
letter.

"That's right," Barbara agreed. "His estate is suing for 
the $120,000 we embezzled from the Company."

Brad, typically Barbara thought, had been confused. "Well 
what do you mean? Did you owe Baxter the money or 
something?"

Carol had answered: "Not exactly. The way they set up the 
embezzlement scheme, the money went into Barbara's 
account. In order to reduce taxes, he was going to accept 
it as a capital gain through a shell company." She looked 
over at Barbara. "That's right, isn't it?" Barbara nodded 
tiredly. "So," Carol continued, "when Baxter's estate 
went into probate, the money turned up as a debt to his 
account. A debt from Barbara to his company."

Brad still looked confused, but the two women ignored 
him. Barbara cut right to the heart of the matter: "I 
need that money back," she said. "We set it up so that 
the debt is watertight. I have to pay; if not, they'll 
sue, and this whole thing will come unravelled." She 
looked Carol straight in the eye. "And if things come to 
that," she said menacingly, "I'll make sure everyone 
knows what happened here." Carol swallowed and turned 
red. Barbara, enjoying the feeling of being in control 
once again, repeated her request. "Give me back the 
money."

Carol was silent.

It was Brad spoke up: "We can't," he said quietly. "The 
money is gone."

 The money was gone.

Barbara's facade of calm crumbled, at first slowly and 
then more quickly until she was literally in tears. Over 
the last few minutes, she had begun to feel a sense of 
confusion come over her. It must be the pressure, she 
told herself, making it hard to think. Still, she 
couldn't help herself from feeling overwhelmed by it all: 
after everything she had gone through in the last few 
months... and now to lose it all. It just wasn't fair. It 
just wasn't...

"...Barbara?"

Barbara stopped sniffling and looked over at Carol. The 
women had been saying something to her, but she had been 
too wrapped up in self-pity to listen. "W-what?"

"There's a way out of this," Carol told her, suddenly 
decisive. "Baxter's estate hasn't actually sued yet. If 
you declare bankruptcy before they sue, everything will 
go to the trustee in bankruptcy, and they won't be able 
to get at it. No one'll know where the money went."

In her confused state, Barbara turned this idea over in 
her head. Bankruptcy... but didn't that mean...

"You'll have to decide quickly," Carol stated, 
interrupting Barbara's thoughts. "This letter says that 
they're going to sue right away. You have to declare 
before that happens."

Barbara felt increasingly confused, but one thought stuck 
out in her mind: if she didn't do it and the estate sued 
her, her career would be over and she would be going to 
jail. She was certain of it. She wasn't sure about 
Carol's idea, but... what other choice was there? Barbara 
shook her head, trying to clear away the fog of 
confusion, but only succeeded in disorienting herself. 
What...

"Well?" Carol asked. "What do you want to do? I can have 
a lawyer here within half and hour if you want."

Barbara bit her lip and nodded.

 She would declare bankruptcy. It was the only way out.

Numb, she picked up her coffee cup and finished the dregs 
while the young blonde woman picked up the phone and 
called the lawyer...

The lawyer turned out to be a woman named Terry 
McDonnell.

Coincidentally, Barbara actually knew her: the lawyer had 
worked on a file for the Company a number of years ago. 
The deal had come apart and Barbara had registered a 
complaint to the Bar Society. McDonnell had been 
disciplined, and the Company no longer sent work to that 
firm. Fortunately, Ms. McDonnell didn't seem to recognize 
Barbara, or remember who she was. For the first time, 
Barbara was pleased about the change in her appearance.

The lawyer entered the office and brusquely laid out a 
bunch of forms on Barbara's desk while Carol and Brad 
watched in silence. "Now Ms. Dahlton," she said, "you 
understand the bankruptcy process?" Barbara, still 
confused, shook her head. 

"Basically, you sign over all your assets to a trustee, 
whose job it is to distribute those assets among your 
creditors. The bankruptcy period lasts one year, during 
which all of your wages and other income will go to the 
trustee. You will, of course, be allowed to keep a 
certain percentage of your income to live on, but 
everything else will be distributed. At the end of the 
year, your creditors will accept whatever payment they 
get from the trustee, and you are discharged." 

The woman paused for a breath before asking: "Do you have 
any questions?"

Once again, Barbara shook her head. She didn't really 
understand, but didn't want to appear stupid. Besides, 
McDonnell seemed to know what she was doing.

"Fine." McDonnell nodded and gathered up a stack of 
forms. "I have your assets all listed here, so I just 
need you to sign a few papers."

In her confused state, Barbara didn't think to ask how 
the lawyer had already compiled a list of assets. She 
just took the first form and tried to read it. It was, 
however, filled with dense legalese, and, after a few 
moments, she gave up and just signed it. That form was 
followed by a second, equally impenetrable, document; a 
third... On it went. After the first few, she gave up 
reading and just signed them.

Finally, it was over. McDonnell gathered up the signed 
documents. "Thank you," she said. "That will do it. I'll 
get these executed right away." She turned and left the 
office, followed closely by Carol and Brad.

Barbara eased back in her chair and heaved a sigh of 
relief. Thank god that was taken care of...

"...and you need to file these as soon as possible," 
McDonnell said, handing Carol most of the forms, "Ms 
Trustee." Carol took the forms; she was now the trustee, 
the legal owner, of almost all of Barbara's assets - and 
income - for the coming year. Plenty of time to arrange 
for the suitable disposal of those assets.

"But this one..." The lawyer held up a document, a smile 
appearing on her face for the first time since she had 
arrived. "This one I'll do myself. The name change has to 
be published before it takes effect."

Carol smirked. "Fine Terry," she said, "but do it soon."

Terry McDonnell, who very clearly remembered the incident 
with Barbara Dahlton, smiled a nasty smile: "I'm on my 
way now. It'll be in the classified section of the final 
edition. By tomorrow, her name will officially be Barbie 
Dahl."

*

"...and, well, you've shown such a marked improvement 
these last three months, we'd like you to stay on."

Carol smiled widely. Her one year probation period was 
finally up and it looked like she was going to keep her 
job! More than that...

"As you may have heard," Riker continued, shifting 
uncomfortably in his seat, "There have been some... 
difficulties with Ms Dahlton's work lately. We'd thought 
that things were back to normal - Simpson spoke very 
highly of her; damn near insisted on working exclusively 
with her - but now this bankruptcy thing..." The balding 
executive scratched his head. "Well... we'd like you to 
take her job, on a temporary basis of course. See how you 
fit in."

Carol could barely contain herself. Not only was she 
being kept on, but she was being offered a great 
promotion: Barbara's job, no less! This was too good to 
be true. Wait until she told Brad!

Still... there was one thing.

"Well Ms Fawkner?" Riker was a little miffed; he'd been 
expecting something more of a reaction. It wasn't every 
day a junior employee got such good news.

Carol shook her head. "I'm sorry Mr Riker," she 
apologized. "Of course I'll be delighted to take the job. 
The company's been very good to me so far, and I like it 
here. But..."

"But?"

"Well," Carol lowered her face. "It's about... Barbara. I 
know she hasn't been 'on' lately, but... I think it's 
because of Baxter." Carol looked up, gauging Riker's 
reaction. "I think she was hit hard when he died. They 
had been working together for a long time."

Riker frowned at the mention of Baxter's name, but his 
face softened when Carol explained Barbara's reactions. 
"It's nice of you to defend her," he answered. "To tell 
the truth... well, maybe I shouldn't be telling you this, 
but Barbara was never particularly complimentary about 
your work."

"I know," Carol looked upset. "But it just doesn't seem 
fair to fire her just like that."

Riker shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I don't know what 
else to do about it," he told her. "We can't have her as 
an executive. Quite aside from the quality of work, the 
bankruptcy will reflect on the entire company. And the 
name change... did you know?" Carol nodded, fighting back 
a smirk. "Changed her name to 'Barbie Dahl', for christ's 
sake." He shook his head in disbelief. "Barbie Dahl. 
She's lost it completely."

"I know," Carol agreed. "But maybe she can stay on in 
another capacity."

"What do you have in mind?"

Carol smiled and began to explain exactly what she had in 
mind...

"Don't tell me..."

"Listen, you idiot," Carol cut the older woman off. 
"You're going to be fired if you don't listen to me. 
Riker wants to let you go right now, but I convinced him 
to give you another chance. He wants to talk with you. 
Now."

Barbara slumped back against her desk, instinctively 
patting down her short skirt - if she wasn't careful, it 
got bunched up on her legs. Wavy blonde hair perfectly in 
place, she stuck out her pink-lipstick covered lower lip 
in a sexy pout as she considered her options. If Riker 
was going to fire her... Even the thought made her lower 
lip quiver and her eyes brighten with tears. Without 
thinking, she pulled the small makeup mirror out of her 
desk drawer and checked her makeup; wouldn't do to have 
the mascara run.

Now, what had Carol said about saving the job?

"He wants to talk to me?" she asked, voice quavering.

Carol nodded. "Right now. I convinced him that we can 
still use you around the office, but he wants to hear 
from you how much you want to work here."

Barbara sighed, breasts heaving beneath her skimpy 
blouse, and nodded in agreement.

She did want the job.

"And don't forget," Carol added, following as the older 
woman left the office. "If you get fired, there will be 
no money for the bankruptcy. You may yet end up in jail."

This thought sent another chill of fear through Barbara 
as she hustled down the hallway, walking expertly on the 
five inch heels.

Carol and Phyllis watched her go, the latter staring 
hungrily at Barbara's ass.

"Well," Carol sighed. "This is it."

Phyllis looked up at and smiled hopefully. "You haven't 
forgotten..."

"No." Carol shook her head. "If things go as planned, 
she'll be all yours."

"...and I really, really need the job Mr Riker..."

Even now, Riker couldn't believe the change. Just three 
months ago, Barbara Dahlton had been one of the toughest, 
most competent executives in the Company; a shoe-in for 
Baxter's job. And now...

"...I promise not to mess up again. That was..."

And now, here she was... looking like some kind of blonde 
sex-bimbo, practically begging to be kept on.

"...so please give me another chance."

She finally ran down and fell silent. Riker let his gaze 
move slowly over her body, starting from her five-inch 
pumps, up her long, sleek legs, barely covered by the 
short skirt, up to her large, firm breasts and beautiful, 
tarty face and blonde hair. God she looked hot!

"But you understand," he said, fighting to keep the lust 
from his voice, "that you can't stay at your present 
position and salary?"

"Oh, yes Mr Riker."

And the gum; made her look like such a tart!

"And you don't mind acting as Ms Fawkner's personal 
secretary? She's pretty new..."

"Oh no," came the answer. "I like working for Carol."

Riker paused for a moment. She seemed awfully anxious to 
keep the job; and she looked so sexy standing there like 
that... his dick was straining against the fabric of his 
pants.

A thought occurred to him.

But... well, why not?

She was just another office bimbo now.

"I'm not so sure," he said lazily, getting up and walking 
around to stand in front of his desk, "that you're really 
right for the job." He leaned back against the desk, legs 
slightly spread. "How much do you want it?"

Barbara swallowed, eyes brightening with tears.

But she knew what to do.

Slowly, forcing a sexy smile on her vacant face, Barbara 
Dahlton - Barbie Dahl - knelt down in front of Riker and 
reached over to undo his zipper with her long, brightly 
painted nails...

*

"What a bimbo!"

The small circle of people laughed as the object of the 
comment, Barbie Dahl, entered the room where the office 
summer party was being held. As usual, she was dressed 
provocatively: six inch heels, black stocking and ultra-
short leather skirt, tank top... on the whole, just 
barely within the bounds of acceptability at the party. 
And, as usual, the clothes looked great on her; the 
regular trips to Workout World had worked wonders on her 
body.

"Who is she?" The speaker was a new trainee executive.

Carol smiled at her. "That's Barbie," she answered. 
"She's my personal assistant. Just a sec, I'll introduce 
you." The blonde woman turned and called out: "Barbie! 
Here, girl." The woman, Barbie, flushed a bright red as 
the people in the room laughed, but she quickly came 
over, walking expertly on the heels.

Barbara - Barbie - felt herself flush with embarrassment 
and humiliation as she approached the group. Six months 
ago, she had been their equal or superior, and now...

"Hello Barbie," Carol greeted her.

"Ma'am," Barbie nodded, eyes cast downward. Carol was 
very strict about that: she was always to refer to Carol 
as "ma'am" in public. As well, she was under strict 
orders never to talk about business around other people. 
In private, Carol was happy to pick her brains about 
business and the Company, but in public she was to be an 
airhead.

Pretty, but vacant.

"I want you to meet Sandra," Carol said, smiling. "Sandra 
Janson, this is Barbie, my personal assistant." Barbie 
looked up at Sandra but didn't speak. "Barbie," Carol 
admonished, "say hello."

Barbie flushed again. "Hello Ms Janson," she said in a 
small voice. She hated this; the girl was fifteen years 
her junior.

"Hello Barbie," the girl answered, smirking.

The group laughed.

"If you'll excuse me for a moment," Carol said to the 
group, "I just want a word with Barbie. She gets so 
confused when she isn't told what to do."

Another round of laughter, and Barbie heard the new girl 
mutter "what a bimbo" as she walked away.

"Barbie," Carol stated, matter of fact now that she was 
no longer 'performing', "Riker wants to meet with you in 
his office. And Simpson is going to be here later." 
Barbie shuddered; she knew what that meant. For the last 
couple of months, Carol had been using her to keep 
Simpson happy - using her as a "business whore" Carol 
called it - while Carol did the deals and got the credit. 

So far it had worked out great for everyone but Barbie - 
the Company got the work; Carol got the credit; and 
Simpson got full use of Barbie usually at least once or 
twice a week. Carol was so happy with the arrangement, 
that she was planning to use Barbie in the same capacity 
with other customers. ("Between your pussy and my 
brains...") 

"He'll be expecting you to hang all over him at the party 
and then accompany him back to his hotel room." Barbie 
couldn't help but tremble at the small shiver of lust in 
her tummy; she just couldn't help herself. She hated 
every moment of being with Simpson, but for some reason, 
she just couldn't stop coming.

And the thought of being forced to sleep with other 
customers...

"I've spoken to Phyllis," Carol continued. "She won't be 
expecting you home until tomorrow." Barbie shuddered 
again at the thought of the red headed secretary. Between 
the drop in pay and the percentage taken by the trustee 
in bankruptcy, Barbara had no longer been able to afford 
her own apartment. Carol had arranged for Phyllis to take 
her in, and the two women now lived together. Barbie was 
still not a lesbian, despite the best efforts of her 
roommate, but she had learned how to suck pussy and fake 
excitement sufficiently well to satisfy Phyllis.

She hated it, though.

Every second of it.

"Barbie!" The blonde bimbo heard her name spoken, this 
time by a male voice. It was Riker, standing across the 
room in a doorway. "I want to see you right away," he 
called to her. This brought another round of laughter 
from the party-goers. Everyone knew what was going to 
happen at the meeting.

"Off you go," Carol told her, giving her a pat on the 
ass. "Have a good time."

Flushing a bright red, Barbie walked across the room, 
followed by a good number of lustful stares from the men 
in the room. It had been several days since she had been 
gang banged in the storeroom, and they were getting 
restless again.

This week for sure.

Carol felt a hand across her shoulders and looked up to 
see Brad smiling down at her.

"Everything OK?" he asked.

She smiled back and gave him a quick hug. "Perfect," she 
told him. "Couldn't be better."

From behind her, she heard the booming voice of Harold 
Simpson as he entered the party. He already sounded half 
drunk, and seemed ready to have some fun.

She looked up at Brad and the two of them laughed. Maybe 
things could get better...


THE END

As usual, all comments are appreciated.

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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life in
anyway shape or form. 

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Kristen's collection - Directory 22