Amy looked over at the secretaries busily preparing banking documents, the clicking-clacking of computer printers and typewriters filling the cavernous bank with the sounds of mortgages being prepared, deeds being registered, statements being generated for scores of homeowners. Each and every day thousands of mortgages are processed, each representing struggle, persistence and a whole change of life. Owning property -- it was The American Dream, a dream which had just come true for she and her husband.

Amy fidgeted with her purse as she sat waiting for Bob Baines in the lobby of the First Metropolitan Bank. She was pleased he'd been able to see her on such short notice, but dealing with institutions made her nervous. She had last been in the granite floored and mahogany paneled lobby three months ago -- definitely a happier occasion. Amy Walenski smiled warmly at the memory -- Wendell, her husband to be, and she had received the mortgage they'd worried so incessantly about. Bob Baines had been their best friend in the world then, congratulating the couple on the maturity and hard work it had taken to put their down payment together. "Not every newly wed couple is able to buy a home so soon after graduation from high school," he'd commented approvingly. "You two should be very proud of yourselves."

How Wendell had beamed at that! At twenty, he'd already put together a small nest egg of two thousand dollars. That combined with Amy's thousand dollar savings account, built with hard-earned tips from her after-school waitressing job at the car hop, had put them over the top. They had enough to buy the small starter home they had set their hearts on -- the small two bedroom slab ranch that would be their first home. There was more to it than just the down payment of course. Wendell was making good money for a boy his age in construction, but the bank still required his parents to co-sign the loan. Though they had little themselves, they'd generously put their retirement on the line and co-signed. Amy was so lucky to have such wonderful in-laws, especially since her own parents had passed away when she was all of three. She was pleased to escape from the prison of her spinster aunt's home and the feeling was mutual. In retrospect, it'd been her aunt's utter meanness and the prospect of escape that'd made the dream come true as much as scraping the money together. Wendell was her loving escape route, their marriage and home a sanctuary for Amy.

"Well, Amy! How are you? Hope you haven't been waiting long -- I'm without a secretary at the moment and I never get my messages on time. Let's go sit and talk." Bob invited her to follow him back into his office. The older man escorted her to the executive office suite inside the bank building. His warm greeting reassured her. He had to know why she was there or at least suspected. And yet here he was, as pleasant as he could possibly be. Amy smiled. His brisk, confident manner inspired her. If this older man, so impressive in his tailored blue pinstripe three piece suit and spit polished black shoes couldn't solve this problem, she didn't know who could. On his wide desk, there was the Walenski mortgage file. Amy just prayed there was a way out hidden in it somehow. Bob would find it if he could.

And he would try to help them. She just knew it. She had known Bob Baines from the time she was thirteen, had been friends with Kathryn his daughter. Amy had spent lots of time at the Baines home till she and Kathryn drifted apart about the time they had entered high school. Then they began to part company -- Kathryn taking college preparatory classes, Amy taking more general classes. They moved in different circles after awhile, having less and less in common. Kathryn's flawless, delicate blonde rich girl looks and manners might have pointed her for a sheltered life of leisure if it hadn't been for her exceptional intelligence. Her grades, except for a brief period during which the Baines were divorced, remained As in virtually every subject. "So how are you kids making out? Got any buns in the oven yet, my dear?" Bob winked. "I bet that big husband of yours can't wait to make a baby with such a pretty little wife like you!"

Amy blushed. "We'd like to try, Bob. Actually Wendell wants me to be a stay-home mom. He wants an old-fashioned wife and have just a bunch of kids!"

Bob grinned. "Good for you two! And heck the practice is fun anyway, am I right Amy?" he playfully added.

Amy's face went from pale to pink, a flush rising on both cheeks and the banker laughed it off.

"How's Kathryn?" she asked brightly. It was always good to ask about her. Bob loved talking about his very successful, very beautiful daughter.

Bob glowed at the question, his normal, banker's manner melting. Closing the door to his office behind them, he answered the question with gushing pride. "Well, she's just wonderful, thank you for asking! She graduated from Princeton cum laude last month and has taken a job as investment analyst with Merrill Lynch at their headquarters on Wall Street. I met her fianci just last week when I was in the City on business. A nice fellow -- he's a producer for the evening news. All in all, things are working out just wonderfully for them -- I think they'll have a wonderful life. A relief I admit after the messiness of the divorce while she was in school. Anyway, she asked about you and Wendell and wanted to be remembered to you."

Amy smiled sympathetically. The divorce had been nasty, a mini-scandal in Bentson County. The former Missus Baines had accused her ex of physical, mental and emotional abuse, claiming he was a veritable sadist and an alcoholic to boot. It was whispered that her claims of abuse went farther, that her husband had done things to her and inflicted pain on her in ways too humiliating to fully reveal, but it was agreed this was pure grandstanding for the family court judge, a well-known liberal. For his part, Bob Baines had brushed off the accusations as the typical ravings of a greedy divorce plaintive. He refused to answer the charges, saying to do so would hurt their daughter. Then something had happened, because the messy divorce was declared no-fault and Mrs. Baines left the area almost immediately. The reason for Mrs. Baine's sudden absence was never explained, but the police let it be known that there was no hint of impropriety on the part of Mr. Baines. There was a very good reason why Mrs. Baines hadn't stayed to fight it out in the divorce court, the police chief implied, and the matter should be laid to rest.

For all that , Amy was not a little jealous of her old childhood friend. She wasn't gorgeous like her friend, though she was pretty. Her looks were dark -- long straight brown hair, soft big chestnut hued eyes, thick eyebrows and long thick black lashes. Her face wasn't classic, but it was cute -- her small chin, her little puckering mouth, and a bit- too-long, thin nose had been attractive enough to get her Wendell to notice her. And her skin was clear and flawless, just like an "Ivory Girl" Wendell said proudly. And where Kathyrn had a drop-dead knock-out figure, Amy was a slim-hipped, small busted girl that wouldn't exactly make it into a centerfold for Playboy magazine. But it was a body that Wendell loved to hold and enjoy and that was enough for Amy. And of all the advantages that Kathryn enjoyed, none could compare to the one thing that Amy had that Kathryn did not -- Wendell.

Amy still didn't know why Wendell had chosen her when he had Kathryn Baines chasing after him. It was the perfect match, every one agreed. Wendell was the school hero -- the big strong captain of the Bentson High varsity football squad, so good that big school coaches had already begun recruiting him early in Junior year with promises of scholarships. Kathyrn was the cheerleader captain, class president, president of the student council and any other honor she wished. How could mousy, flat little Amy compete with Kathyrn Baines, Bentson High's version of Wonder Woman? But Wendell had found her and she him, asking her on dates after big games, then the Winter Ball. Ignoring Kathryn, Wendell devoted himself entirely to the quiet, simple girl he was fast falling in love with because as he told Amy later, "she just wanted me because I would take the best prom picture with her. I want a woman who will be with me for a long time, Amy. Kathryn would dump me as soon as she found someone better, smarter, richer."

At first, Kathryn was furious, then pretended to ignore the slight, laughing it off. As weeks went on, the sight of Wendell and Amy together in the hallway sent her scurrying in the opposite direction. She didn't speak to either of them, even refusing to talk about them with others. Kids in the class talked incessantly about Kathryn's stubbornness, then her increasing depression. It was understandable -- her failure with Wendell was the first anyone could ever remember. Kathryn Baines had ALWAYS gotten everything she wanted. The shock at this failure was profound. When it was quietly announced that she was transferring to a Swiss girl's school to finish out her high school, Amy had tried to contact her old friend, to apologize, to tell Kathryn it wasn't her fault. But she had left by then and Amy never got a response.

Anyway, Kathryn sounded like she was living a glamorous life, what with her Ivy League education and big city job and fianci. Amy had to be content with her life as a young woman with a high school diploma here in dull, dull Benston. She didn't have Kathryn's beauty or brains and never would. She knew that. But she did have Wendell and their little house, at least she could take comfort in that. And maybe soon they would have children and her life would be as perfect as she could make it. She would be the perfect homemaker for Wendell, making him proud of her. If only she could find a solution, get over this bump in the road...

Bob cleared his throat politely. "So, tell me Amy, what did you want to see me about?"

Amy smiled bravely and dove in head first. "Well, Bob it is about our mortgage --"

His immediate reaction caught her off guard. "You're late on your very first mortgage payment. Several weeks overdue, as a matter of fact." His tone was neutral, bordering on accusatory -- the banker coming out.

Amy looked down, playing with a button on her white blouse. Without looking at the older man, she spoke into her lap. "Well, you see, Wendell, uh, he lost his job right after we were approved and he hasn't been able to find work since then -- but he's looking real hard. I was hoping you could help us Bob, the way you helped us to get the loan. Maybe bend a few rules like you did when we applied. Just maybe give us an extension Bob -- Wendell just knows he's going to get a job soon. He's down at Unemployment now, that's why he couldn't come with me."

The banker didn't blink, didn't respond at all. She thought he'd be angry -- he had worked with them so closely to help them organize their finances. But no -- he merely looked at her with those emotionless blue eyes. He opened the file and read silently.

"Empire Building, that is where Wendell was working -- right?"

She nodded.

He shook his head. "Too bad. He was making good money -- almost thirty thousand a year, that right?"

Amy smiled proudly. Wendell was doing so well for his age. "Yes, Bob, and I just know he'll get another job like it very soon. And he thinks he might be called back any day now, when they get reorganized. Right now he's ready to take anything he can get and we're sure he'll get something." She nodded as she said it, trying to show him how much he should believe her.

A thin smile, then a shake of his steel gray haired head. "Possibly. Now, you say Wendell may get called back. He won't. Empire is bankrupt. They owe the bank hundreds of thousands of dollars. It has been coming for a long, long time. They are so deep in the red that it's clear that that they'll never open again. Believe me, when I heard about this from the Commercial Loan people I couldn't have been more surprised."

Amy was stunned. When they had submitted their mortgage application, Mr. Baines had been the one that said Empire was a "solid company" that would be around for many years to come. He even said they might be expanding soon, with promotions and raises possible. That had only been three months ago!

"And," he continued passionlessly, "there's no other construction firm in the whole county that will be hiring. In fact, with the economy slowing down every day more and more, there will be more, not less, construction workers on the street. older, more experienced men with connections. So I don't think Wendell will have any luck getting a construction job any time soon. I doubt construction will come back into the area for at least five years." A small, curious smile spread on his lips. "What other prospects does Wendell have? What is his degree in anyway" He looked at her expectantly, picking up a gold pen ready to write down her answer. There was more in the look too, something she remembered from long ago.

When she had last stayed over for a slumber party at Kathryn's, Amy had been fifteen. After the other girls had gone to sleep, Amy had woken up to get a drink of water. It had been late and she was sure she was alone as she turned the tap in the dark kitchen. A sound from the kitchen table frightened her and she had turned to see a bloodshot Mr. Baines having a drink in the dark by himself. She was blooming then into full womanhood, her breasts swelling under her nightie tee shirt, her panties pulling tighter around her widening hips. He had licked his lips and said that she was a pretty girl while examining her in her sleep clothes. She had thanked him and tiptoed out quickly, embarrassed at the way he had been looking at her in her underthings. Amy could swear he had the same look in his eyes now.

"Degree? Wendell, uh, didn't go to college, Bob."

Baines looked up, a puzzled look on his face. "I thought your husband was a big football star or something in high school. I had heard he was being recruited by some big school sin the East."

Amy sighed. "He was till the accident. Wendell was going to Boston College on a full scholarship. Then, after the accident, he couldn't play any more. So he went to work right away."

Baines exhaled and looked at Amy with kinder eyes. "That's right -- I forgot. A hit and run wasn't it? Thank God he wasn't too seriously hurt. But it was a tragedy about his legs. You can't be a quarterback without being able to run a quick four-forty. Awful. And they never got the guy, did they?"

Amy shook her head and Baines returned to his earlier question, gently prodding. "O.k., no college degree makes it tougher, but I'm sure you two have thought about your options. What else does Wendell have in mind for work?"

"Uh, well, I don't know."

Mr. Baines chuckled. "Not a good answer Amy. Not a good answer at all. How will you meet your adult obligations, my dear? What kind of assets do you have?"

Amy shook her head. "I don't know! Nothing -- just our principal."

"And that's not much to speak of at this point since you just bought the house." He shook his head wearily, glancing back at the file. "Well, I guess your in-laws will have to meet the obligation then. The bank will have to require them to pay your mortgage."

Her hands flew to her face, panicked at the prospect. She saw her in-laws, kind yes, but poor and old. If they had to pay --

"Yes, they'd lose their home to make up YOUR failure," Baines completed her thought. "Too bad. They are older people and to lose your home at that age... But at least the bank could sell their home to meet YOUR mortgage." He sighed. "What a waste."

Amy's head was swimming. Her world was falling apart. Bankrupt, all their money lost, nothing left, no work...

"Maybe there's a solution," Baines offered hopefully.

Amy looked up, a wide grateful smile on her face for her savior. "Yes, Mr. Baines?"

He gave her that look again. She forced her smile to remain.

"You might need to find work."

Amy nodded. "I'm a hard worker, Mr. Baines! And I'll take anything!"

That made him smile. "As you know, I feel somewhat responsible for you two kids. Perhaps there might be something at the bank. Perhaps as a secretary."

She nodded. Amy would get a job, no problem. It would be work but if it would help them keep the house...

"Perhaps as my secretary, Amy. Would you be willing to take that position if it was offered to you? On a temporary basis of course-- say a few weeks or so. To be frank, I really need a properly trained secretary. However, I'm sure you'd be up to answering the phone and handling my filing, at least for a little while. And when Wendell gets a new job, you could leave." His slate eyes softened, the eyes of an older friend trying to help. "And you'd be doing me a favor -- as I said I'm without a secretary right now and it would really help us both out."

Relief spread through her like cool water. Crisis averted! Amy gathered her strength. It would be all right, after all. Bob had come through for them. She was happy she had come here today.

"Yes, yes I would Bob. I can probably help you more than you think," she played it calmly, nodding slowly. "I can type and take dictation and file. I took secretarial classes in high school and I think I could do a very good job for you, at least for a couple of weeks."

Baines nodded, pleased to have solved the problem...but then a slight frown creased his face.

"What is it?" Amy asked, worried again.

The banker tapped the mortgage with his gold pen. "Even working for me as a temp won't solve your problem. This," he shuffled the mortgage file and pulled out a red piece of paper, "is an internal notice to begin the foreclosure process here at the bank. The mortgage has got to be paid right away. Can you pay this today?"

Amy shook her head sadly. "We don't have a cent, Bob! It took everything we had to buy the house!"

"And I overlooked the normal savings requirement too," Baines said in reminded frustration. "Maybe, well..." He closed his eyes in thought and pondered. Then he looked up. "Look Amy, I feel responsible and I want this to work out for you kids. What if I agree to give you an advance on your temp pay and cover the difference between your salary and the mortgage till Wendell gets a job?"

The grateful smile on Amy's face said it all. "Would you do that for us Bob?"

The older man nodded. "It will mean that I become a secondary creditor after the bank. You'll have to sign a loan agreement with me, promising to pay me back when Wendell gets his next job, but yes, Amy -- I think I'd be happy to do that for you. Could you bring it home and get Wendell to sign it? It also needs to be notarized."

Amy felt like a huge weight had been lifted off of her back. "We'll sign anything you like, Bob. And I can't tell you how grateful we are."

Baines promised to have the papers drawn up and dropped off at the house. He stood up and walked her to the door. "I'll see you tomorrow, Amy." His slate eyes were so warm, so reassuring. "It's nice to have you aboard!"

"What's going on next door, hon? What are they building?" Amy asked, setting a bag of precious groceries down on the table. She was referring to the construction going on in the big corner lot next door. The air was filled with the sounds of construction -- men and heavy equipment shaping the earth.

Her husband shrugged. "How should I know?" he responded angrily. "Despite what you think, I'm not here all day."

It was starting already. She hadn't been home two minutes. "Just thought there might be a job opportunity, that's all. How did your search go today?"

Wendell threw the paper across the room angrily. "There's nothing out there -- nothing!"

Amy rubbed his back. "Honey, it's just going to take a while -- that's all! Don't get so down on yourself. Really, it's all right!" He was getting so depressed these days. It broke her heart to see him like this -- his powerful frame bent over in frustration and shame.

His eyes glared at her. "Everywhere I go, I get the same thing -- 'sorry, no openings.' No construction jobs, nothing." He was seething mad, but she didn't rise to the bait. It wasn't Amy he was mad at -- it was himself.

"What about the list of contacts Bob Baines gave me to give you? Have you tried them all?"

Wendell ran a huge hand through his brown hair nervously. "No -- I mean yes I tried them all. It was nice of him to offer to help but none of the companies had work. Could you get me a beer?"

Amy scurried to the fridge, bringing him back a cold one. She wanted to say something -- he was putting on weight by drinking so much -- but she held her tongue. "Here you go honey. Just go sit down and watch the news. I'll have dinner ready in a few minutes, o.k.?" Wendell clambered up and switched on the television.

As she prepared a meatloaf, Amy looked at the calendar hanging on the kitchen wall. Wendell had been out of work for four months to the day. Dully, she thought about how hard life had become since getting married. She was so tired all the time now, what with working at the bank AND cleaning the small house AND making dinner. And latter when they went to bed, Wendell would want to make love to her -- and she would have to say no. She sighed. They hadn't made love in weeks, practically since she had started temping at the bank. She never had the energy these days and knew it was frustrating him to no end. Soon. He'll get a job soon, she thought hopefully.

Amy felt uncomfortable as she escorted the three strange men to Bob's office. They were unlike the typical loan applicants, that was for sure. True, they wore expensive suits and were thoroughly polite (as much as the language difference made that possible), but there was an edge to them that made her skin crawl, a shark-like gleam in their eyes as they scanned the bank offices -- and her. She knew they were checking out her figure as she led them down the hallway. All strange, but Amy reminded herself, you didn't often have three South American businessmen doing business in Bentson County. She could feel their eyes on her ass as she knocked on Bob's door.

"Your guests are here." She opened the door and Bob greeted them in fluent Spanish. Amy left the group, glad to be done with them, as Bob shut the door firmly. Bob was amazing. She had had no idea he was so well-traveled and could speak Spanish so well. You just never knew all a person's little secrets, she thought.

As she attended to her filing, she could hear raised voices from time to time behind the great oak door. Spanish words filled with anger, then calm, then pleased. Must be a big deal! An hour later, Bob asked her to come in.

"Amy, we need your help. These gentlemen," he nodded toward the slick young operators, "are with the Hemispheric Economic Development Commission and represent some very major business interests. Have you heard of NAFTA? Yes, well it has opened the way between institutions like First Metropolitan and their organization to work together in each of our respective communities. These gentlemen are interested in working with us to ensure their assets are invested widely in all kinds of local businesses here in Bentson County."

Amy smiled and nodded at the men. To her disgust, they openly leered at her. One stared right at her chest and laughed, saying something in Spanish to the other two. They all then laughed. Amy blushed.

"That's great Bob. Can I go now?" These guys gave her the creeps!

Bob nodded. "In a minute. We just need you to witness the agreement." He pushed a stack of papers toward her, all legalese and written in incomprehensible bank English.

She picked up a pen, trying not to have her back face the three South Americans.

"Where should I sign? There aren't any other signatures here."

"We'll do that after you sign your name. Sign here," Bob pointed out. "And here. And here, and..." Amy's eyes were bleary twenty minutes later after signing her name in dozens of places on documents that all looked the same. As she signed the last one, she shook her hand in relief.

"All set! Can I go?" She had to sign papers and documents on behalf of Baines all day. It was a regular part of her job. But this was ridiculous!

The four men looked at her with wide smiles. "Sure Amy, you can go. Thanks for your help."

She left, happy to be done with that annoying chore. She took a late lunch and by the time she returned to the bank, the three men were gone.

I shouldn't be upset, Amy thought as she stormed out of Baine's office. He was right. She had just be reprimanded by her boss and the thing was, he was absolutely correct. She SHOULD have been addressing him more appropriately all along. This was a place of business and their relationship was that of boss and secretary, not two family friends. Amy was lucky to have this job, even if it was a temp position. What was the big deal. Fine, from now on it would be just like he said -- whenever she spoke to him, it would be 'Mr. Baines' or 'Sir.'

She had thought he'd be pleased when he saw her reading the banking magazines on her lunch hour. Since she was temping it was more out of curiosity, but still she wanted to make a good impression on Baines. She wanted to show him she had initiative, especially because of the way things were working out.

Things were changing somehow, getting more difficult for her. Nothing she did was quite right. Though he remained calm and collected about it, Amy knew she was disappointing him in some way. The look in his face was almost always one of strained tolerance, as if her performance left much to be desired.

So the magazines. But when he saw her reading them, he became positively furious. "What are you doing?"

"J-just trying to learn more about the business, Sir!" she stammered, confused. He was reacting as if she was doing something very, very wrong.

"You are a secretary, for God's sakes! Stick to your Vogues and Cosmos and leave the banking to those who understand it -- got me!"

She nodded her head, not a little hurt. Later that day, she found an apology note waiting for her.

"Amy,

Sorry I yelled at you, but you must understand that to do the best job for me, you need only take direction and do what you are told. In my experience, reading just confuses a cute kid like you. Stick to your fashion magazines, o.k.?

Your Boss, Mr. Baines"

Underneath the note was the latest copy of Cosmopolitan magazine.

"Try some. I think you'll really like it."

Amy took the proffered piece of chewing gum politely. She wasn't a gum chewer -- in fact she despised girls would incessantly snapped and chewed the stuff. But Mr. Baines was trying to be nice. She popped it in her mouth, thanked her boss and went back to work.

As she typed up a memo, Amy couldn't help but enjoy the stuff. It had a strange taste though -- a taste she remembered but couldn't place. A half hour later she realized when she had first come across the taste. It had been her honeymoon, a result of something she had done for Wendell. It was the first and only time since she had tasted it till now, because she hadn't liked the taste that time. But now she couldn't get enough of it, sucking the gum dry with every chew. The gum tasted like sperm!

As she submitted the memo for Baine's signature, she asked him about the gum, careful not to mention the taste.

He smiled. "I'm glad you like it. I thought you would. My business partners, the gentlemen from South America, sent it to me for possible marketing here in the States.

Consider yourself a test subject! You can't get it here, but I have plenty of samples. Would you like another piece?"

She nodded gratefully, taking the wrapper off the stick. As she did, she looked at the wrapper. In big red letters, she noted the gum's name: "Sexy-licious Chewing Gum." "Cute name," she said dryly.

Baines shrugged. "It's foreign, Amy. Probably a bad translation. Start on my next memo, would you?"

Amy returned to her desk and began pounding on the keys, snapping her gum without realizing it. A half-hour later, she felt compelled to ask Mr. Baines for another piece. In spite of its salty taste, the stuff was absolutely addictive! She was secretly thrilled at the end of the day when Baines rewarded her for a good day's work by giving her a whole box of the stuff.

Hadn't he ever heard of feminism? "Be a doll and fetch me some coffee!' he said, like she was some waitress. And he had said it in front of four other bank executives too, two of them women! And the women had smirked too, which hadn't totally surprised Amy. She was learning that the female executives at the bank treated their own secretaries much worse than the males did.

Amy had given him a small, angry smile and brought the coffee silently. She had hoped he would say something later, maybe apologize. Instead he told her to refill the cup, without even looking up from his papers. She popped a piece of Sexy-licious in her mouth and began chewing. It calmed her right down and she obediently filled the cup.

The crack about her pantsuit just frosted her. It had come at the end of the day, just as she was ready to leave. They were going over some tasks for her tomorrow when he looked up and shook his head, with that utterly superior attitude he was increasingly showing towards her.

"Goodness, I didn't know secretaries still wore those things!" His amusing patronizing tone aggravated her to no end!

"Mr. Baines, many of the women who work here wear pantsuits. Why, Ms. Jensen --"

"Is an EXECUTIVE, my dear -- not a secretary. At her level, it may be appropriate -- even though she has an attitude problem I'm not entirely happy with. Far too assertive for her own good. But at YOUR level, well, a pantsuit really isn't befitting a girl of your position." His slate eyes looked down at her in an over-patient way, as if he was explaining something to a child.

The next day, Amy gritted her teeth and wore a skirt.

"So we're not wearing make-up today, Amy?" Mr. Baines scowled at her. She sighed.

"Yes, Sir, I am." Amy searched her brain. Of course she had put make-up on -- not much because she didn't like a lot. But she WAS wearing make-up. It upset her that Mr. Baines was mad at her. She was feeling a little ditzy and very vulnerable, probably all the sugar in the gum. Lately she was feeling so passive, so easily confused. Amy resolved to cut down on her newest bad habit -- it was doing the strangest things to her.

"You can hardly tell, young lady! Don't you think it's important for you to look nice while you're working for me? Or does the job mean that little to you?" he was demanded angrily.

She twitched nervously. "Uh, no Sir, I mean, Yes Sir, I --" she groped for the right words, all the time chewing her Sexylicious gum.

He cut her off with a wave of a hand. "Just start wearing make-up in the office from now on. Don't embarrass me in front of the rest of the executives by coming in here with your face looking like you just got out of bed, understand me?"

She nodded, chewing faster. "Yes Sir!" She shook her head rapidly to show just how well she understood. The next day, Amy's face was painted and made-up as enticingly as any of the other secretaries -- the other single, young unmarried secretaries, that is. It was just easier to get along, she told herself. And Mr. Baines smiled widely at her, proving she had done the right thing. Still, it bothered her. Just like the tickling in her sex now bothered her. Was she horny? Amy blushed and shook off the thought at once, popping another piece of chewing gum in her mouth.

The final straw. That was it. She was still fuming, still completely humiliated by it. By no longer surprised.

She had just finishing watering the plants in his office when he had returned from a planning meeting. He was pleased with this kind of initiative, just as he was pleased with the other things he now had Amy doing for him -- picking up his dry cleaning on her lunch hour, sewing the occasional button that popped of a shirt cuff, trotting down the post office for him, standing in line at the Registry to renew his plates, and any other mindless chore he could dump off on her.

At least it had made things better. She no longer asked questions about what she was doing, she just did, without comment, whatever she was told. He was pleased with her new attitude. Watering his plants without being told to was EXACTLY the kind of initiative he appreciated and he said so. She had smiled demurely.

"Thank you Sir. I'm trying to be the kind of secretary you want." THAT seemed to go over very well, so well in fact that Baines had patted her ass as she left his office.

"Good girl, Amy. I KNEW this would work out after all."

She had frozen, then kept walking out, without saying a word. She didn't look behind her, keeping her dazed eyes focused on the path in front of her. The nerve! That he would think he could touch her like that! She could still feel his palm on her ass, the proprietary way he had patted her, like she was some bar girl or something!

As she walked home, Amy steamed. Bob Baines was a pig, an absolute pig. How could she work for a guy like that? What was wrong with him? It dawned on her that she longer wanted to be Baine's secretary. She would do something else, maybe get a job waitressing, something. If only they weren't counting on that money. And it would take time to get another job. Wendell wasn't having any luck...

That was when she saw the construction worker nailing the sign up next door to her house. Her face went white.

"NEW HOME OF THE BENTSON TOXIC WASTE TREATMENT CENTER"

She raced into the house, slamming the door behind her. Wendell was fixated on a teevee cartoon, his eyes half-opened. Empty beer cans littered the room.

"What the hell is going on next door? Did you see --"

"Look at the mail," he answered flatly, pointed at the opened envelope on the kitchen table.

She picked up the envelope with the registered mail receipt glued to it, pulled out the thick document inside. She began to read, her heart falling with every paragraph. "As you may know," it began innocently enough, "the recent establishment of a chemical processing facility on commercially zoned land abutting yours will serve the whole community of Bentson County in many ways. The First Metropolitan Bank was pleased to finance this important new project. Unfortunately," the letter turned somber," this development has adversely affected your own property value very drastically. A recent independent appraisal by the bank shows that your property has lost two-thirds of it's value from six months ago. As a result, and given your own uncertain employment prospects, the bank has no option but to reconsider its investment in aforesaid property and mortgage."

She had worked at the bank long enough to understand that the legal terms and figures all added up to one thing. The bank was calling in the loan.

"Unless you are able to demonstrate long-term employment, the bank will have no option but to request full payment on your mortgage note. Please respond to this correspondence within twenty-four hours. Thank you for your attention in this matter!" There was no signature. It was a form letter generated automatically by the bank's computers the first of every month.

"Howduya like that?" Wendell was drunk. Amy figured he had been drinking all afternoon -- ever since the letter had been delivered. "I thought we'd wait till tomorrow to tell my folks they'll have to live in the street," he said, eyes rolling in despair as he cracked open a fresh can of beer, "unless I get some big job in the next twenty-four hours, that is." His eyes were filling with tears, drunken, pathetic tears. "I could always rob a gas station or something," he groaned, half-seriously.

The next morning, she asked Baines to be kept on permanently as his personal secretary.

"Would you like to interview for the job now then?" Baines was unbuttoning her blouse with his eyes, addressing his question to the small, firm breasts.

Amy smiled weakly. "Sure," she answered. Her mouth was dry, very dry.

"Good. Secretaries need to be VERY PRETTY to work for me, Amy. And VERY SEXY. Could you remove your blouse now?" Baines licked his lips slowly, savoring his request.

Amy stood up like a rocket, outraged and trembling. She tried to but couldn't meet his eyes. Shaking on weak legs, she turned to the door wordlessly. A mistake, this was a mistake, a mistake --

"Sit down RIGHT NOW." The order was cold, unarguable. Without waiting for a response, he dialed the phone. "Yes, the Sheriff please.

This is Mr. Baines, the Executive Vice President in charge of loans at the First Metropolitan Bank. I have two foreclosures to discuss -- the Walenski Junior and Senior residences. Yes, I'll hold for a moment." Baines tapped his gold pen on the desk rhythmically. As Amy resumed her seat, he quietly placed the receiver back in its rest.

"The Sheriff's men will evict you by end of day, the house reverting to the bank whenever I make the call. That includes your in-laws." Baines paused, letting this sink in before continuing. "IF, however you behave yourself and if you are a VERY GOOD little secretary, I'll will keep the late mortgage payment our little secret." Baines looked at Amy, eyes arched in incredulity, tapping the pen impatiently. "Shouldn't you thank me for being so kind? And shouldn't you take off your blouse now?"

Amy sniffled. "Th-th-thank you, M-m-Mr. B-b-Baines." Trembling, she unbuttoned her blouse, second after endless second displaying more and more of her bare body. With her eyes glued to the deep pile carpet of the executive office, she limply pulled off her blouse, letting it fall to the floor. She wished she might cover her chest, but she knew this wouldn't be allowed. She kept her arms at her side, displaying her plain white cotton Maidenform bra, her pale skin blushing pink in shame.

"Now the skirt," Mr. Baines instructed.

Amy choked, her big brown eyes growing heavy with raindrop tears. She obeyed silently, the tears trickling down her face now, as she unzipped the simple blue cotton skirt. Foolishly, she thought how she had picked out her nicest clothes to wear for Mr. Baines and now they were all on the floor of his office, even as she tossed the skirt on top of the blouse. She stood before him now in nothing but her flats, her bra and her white cotton panties, her whole body quivering as he gave her a clinical once-over. He nodded approvingly and began to speak.

"Amy, let me explain how things will be from now on:

First, you will earn thirteen thousand dollars a year as my secretary -- from that salary, the mortgage payment will be made. It won't be enough to cover the entire mortgage payment, so I will stretch your loan from a thirty to a fifty year loan -- an unusual but not unknown practice. The paycheck will be made out directly to the bank and I will give you a small allowance with which to buy your new work clothes and other items, which," Baines' eyes lit up, "I will explain in a moment. You will be kept on a virtually permanent probation status, meaning termination at MY discretion.

Second, all credit cards will be cut up and all credit lines cut off immediately. Your credit record will indicate your late payments, and you will be denied any request for credit. You will be blacklisted and frozen by credit card companies and financial institutions. You will henceforth use cash for everything -- that is, the small amount of cash I allow you to use from your 'allowance'", Baines' eyes danced at the thought then continued, "-- as a little girl, you obviously can't be allowed access to money. You have already shown yourself, like your husband, as too immature to handle money. So I will do it for you."

Amy wanted to scream YOU LET US BUY THE HOUSE!!! YOU SAID WE COULD AFFORD IT!!! IT IS YOUR FAULT!!! But she merely listened in fascination as Mr. Baines, her boss, continued to tell her how she would live her life from this point on.

"Third, you will tell Wendell that you are so very very HAPPY to work for me and lucky to get the job. You will have Wendell come in personally to THANK me for my generosity in hiring his inexperienced young wife as his secretary. He should write a gushing note as well, for your personnel file, just as you should write thank you notes every so often, telling me how happy you are to be my secretary.

Fourth, you will tell Wendell about a WONDERFUL opportunity as a security guard at a local factory that I have tipped you to. It requires a seven day a week commitment, working six at night to six in the morning." Mr. Baines frowned in mock disappointment. "It only pays hourly minimum wage meaning twelve thousand a year tops. But with jobs so scarce and Wendell with just a high school degree... Well, you ought to have him come in and thank me for that too. I have a funny feeling that Wendell will get the job very easily. I'll point out that you his wife is actually making more money than he is at his new job. That will remind him what a disappointment he must seem to you as a man. Too bad, but there you are."

Amy gritted her teeth. She could see her dear Wendell dejected, his broad shoulders slumping, his spirit broken. Failure. That's what he would see himself as.

"Fifth, obviously children will have to wait for awhile. You're young.

You'll have plenty of time later on, in my humble opinion. And doesn't my opinion mean a great deal to you now?" His steely grin said it all.

His opinion meant EVERYTHING to Amy now. "Anyway you won't really have the opportunity to make one, will you? So you'll get on the Pill today if you aren't already on it.

Sixth, you will dress 'appropriately' from now on. Your underwear is not acceptable."

Amy shivered with impotent rage and humiliation.

"You will purchase silky, lacy lingerie, tight miniskirts, clingy tops and so forth. You'll surprise me with your imagination, but here are a few tips for you: I ALWAYS prefer garter belts and stockings to pantyhose -- you should remember that. High heels from now on -- three inch heels at minimum. I like thong panties and thigh highs. Panty and bra colors that sluts like include red and black. Amy, from this point on, consider yourself a slut."

NO!!! Amy screamed. Then she saw the sheriff's deputies taking everything away. Her in-laws begging on the street, all because of HER. She swallowed her shame and listened, glassy eyed, to her new boss's next question.

"I have taken the time to go through this," he pulled a catalog out from his top drawer. It glided across the smooth polished surface of the mahogany desktop. Amy looked at it. It was the latest catalog from Frederick's of Hollywood. "-- and circled the things that I think are appropriate for you to wear now. I think you'll find them out of your price range, but try to substitute closely at Wal-Marts or wherever poor people buy things. Look through it now, will you?"

Amy flipped the glossy pages. In the front was clothing. Mr. Baines had circled sexy models posing seductively in tube tops, spandex miniskirts, hot pants -- she flipped toward the back. Lingerie. Teddies, babydolls, lace bikinis, crotchless panties -- all worn by women who looked like their lives depended on pleasing a man, with big "Fuck me please!" smiles glued on their faces and sticking their tits and asses out as far as they could. Sluts.

"What is your bra size, Amy?"

"Th-thirty-two A."

He waited, then added "Sir or Mr. Baines is appropriate, Amy. Try it again."

"Thirty-two A, Mr. Baines."

He put his finger to his lip, contemplating this. "Better stick with bras that give you some support in that area, Amy. With breasts that small, you'll need a lot of help, won't you?"

"Yes, Mr. Baines." She wiped a tear away before another took it's place.

"Yes indeed, Amy. I see you in shelf bras, push-ups, and half bras that give you a lift. ABSOLUTELY NO PADDING though. You're a flat little thing and don't think you can escape that fact. What's a flat girl's best friend in the world, Amy?"

Amy shook her head. She could feel her little boobs swaying slightly in her familiar old Maidenform as she did. "I don't know, Mr. Baines."

"The Wonder Bra, naturally. Get one at once. Or two if you like. Make-up should be worn at all times and I like what you working class girls call `big hair' -- it's so suggestive so cheap-looking, don't you think? Painted nails always, and keep your toenails painted too. Have your ears pierced a couple of more times at the mall and let's try hoops or chandelier-style earrings on you too. You will purchase these items with the allowance I'll give you. Since that will be a small allowance, you will have to shop at the discount stores, I'm afraid. I love the thought of you buying the sexiest lingerie K-mart has to offer, along with all the other white trash!" His gruff, pitiless chuckle echoed in her ears. Amy shivered as he added, "You'll be required to purchase other items out of your allowance as well at places downtown, nasty places, but we'll talk about those items in the weeks and months to come."

"Seventh, you'll be working late. Bankers never sleep. Travel will be necessary from time to time and I'll need my faithful, efficient little secretary with me at those times. You should warn Wendell you might not be home some mornings, even weekends. You should be VERY convincing on this score, Amy. You will, won't you dear?"

Amy nodded dumbly, a zombie. She was being told that she wouldn't be allowed to spend any time with Wendell. She was reserved for the exclusive use of Mr. Baines from now on. "Travel" meant cheap hotels, one bed, rented by the hour, sheets extra. "Working late" meant... she felt chills spread throughout her entire body, electric shocks sizzle through her heart and lungs as she gasped, choking down tears. It was setting in now what he was talking about. It was dawning on her that nothing would ever be the same again. She could no longer restrain the panicky tears, the gut-wrenching sob that burst forth. She clutched her face, awash in the anticipation of her complete abasement.

Baines' tone was disgusted. "Eight, and most important for you, Amy, so stop sniveling and listen up -- you will have a proper ATTITUDE about your new situation. You will show me GRATITUDE and RESPECT. You will long to please me, to make sure I am NEVER, EVER displeased with you. My displeasure will result in your punishment. And if you were ever to speak to my ex-wife, you would learn just how terrible my punishments can be."

Amy forced herself to stop crying. A new tone had filled Mr. Baines now, one that terrified her more than anything she had heard since.

"That's right Amy. Good girl. No more tears -- just smiles for your boss. Give me a smile now... show me how much you LIKE being my little assistant."

Amy hooked up the ends of her mouth into an unconvincing smile.

"Not that kind of smile, Amy. You KNOW what kind of smile I want to see on your pretty face." His look said she had a second chance, no more. His patience was wearing thin with her.

She closed her eyes and thought of the way she smile at Wendell, then killed it. No, that wasn't what he wanted, he didn't want love, he wanted... lust. She curled her lips up, and gave her lower lip a little bite like one of the models in the lingerie catalog. Amy gave Mr. Baines a slut's smile. And he nodded approvingly.

"That's VERY good. And I want you to behave just like your smile hints at. For me, in front of others especially. There shouldn't be any doubt in people's minds about what you are and you should act the part every second of every day. Or," he pointed at the phone again. Sheriff's deputies, bankruptcy, her in-laws homeless, Wendell broken for good as a man. Baines looked up, his point having been made by the look in Amy's eyes.

"So, just so we have it for the record, what are you, Amy?"

Amy blinked back a tear, smiling the airhead bimbo "DO ME!!!" smile she had just learned to do so well. "I am a slut, Mr. Baines."

"Whose slut, Amy?"

The smile was there for him, but she knew her eyes betrayed her. They were filled with fear, fear of him and what he might do to her should she not give the appropriate answer. Without hesitation she replied as happily as she could.

"I am YOUR slut, Mr. Baines."

She couldn't believe what had happened and how quickly it had happened to her. She had come here to try to figure out how to get an extension on their mortgage. In three months, she had been reduced to nothing more than a sex slave secretary. Baines was her boss, but he was more than that and she knew it. Mister Baines was her new master.

"That is all. You may get dressed. You'll begin tomorrow. Perhaps you should go home and tell your husband the good news. Here," he tossed a twenty dollar bill at her. "Go to MacDonald's to celebrate. And buy a six pack of beer. Make your husband think you two are the luckiest newlyweds in the world. Make him happy, Amy. Give him something to remember as he starts his first day or night of work tomorrow. Be here at eight-thirty, prompt. Have my coffee hot and ready on my desk -- I like it with one sugar, black."

Amy waited for a moment, then grabbed her clothes, grateful for the protective covering of the blouse and skirt. She turned to go.

"Hold on, missy. There's one more thing -- AND I think you owe me a big thank you," Baines leered, tapping his gold pen.

Thank you for turning me into YOUR PERSONAL WHORE?, she wanted to snap back. But her eyes looked at his, then dropped to the floor. She mumbled.

"Speak UP!" he barked.

"Thank you, Mister Baines. Thank you for making me your new secretary."

He made his last request. It was the one that broke her. All her self-righteous anger wrapped within itself into a ball, which promptly smashed into bits against this most degrading command. She nodded obediently, submissively, like a proper secretary would respond to any ordinary request her boss might make. Slowly, carefully she slipped off her engagement ring and placed it before him, then the wedding band.

Baines slipped the two rings on his keychain with double snaps. "Good luck charms," he explained callously. "You'll tell Wendell you lost them cleaning. He'll want to replace them but how can you? You can't even make your mortgage payment for God's sake. You think I'm taking them because I don't want people to think you're married, don't you Amy? You're wrong. I WANT everyone to know you're married. I'll make reference to it. They'll be no confusion about it. And when people ask you why you don't wear your wedding and engagement rings, all I want you to do is smile and wink. That will give everyone you work with all they need to know about Amy Walenski -- now, you may leave."

As Baines watched his new possession take leave from his office, he smiled. He had waited five years to take ownership of this girl, this little nothing his daughter laughed at behind her back. Her small breasts, her tight backside, her pouty mouth -- he would train her, break her in just the way he wanted her. Ah, the fun he would have with his new plaything!

As she trailed out in a daze, stinging in her deepest humiliation, Baines thought about the pride of ownership -- home and otherwise. When the Walenskis hadn't made their first mortgage payment on time, he had arranged to buy the note secretly from the bank. He had approached the bank president, an ancient golfplaying fool who was rarely in the office. Baines felt responsible about having recommended the young couple. He would inform them of foreclosure and buy the mortgage himself, probably allow them to rent. The old man waved an o.k. and left for the links, leaving Baines with title to the pathetic little slab two bedroom ranch. They had already lost their little bit of principal. Amy's and Wendell's paychecks would go for rent, not mortgage payments as they would think. He would let it go years before revealing the truth. And by that time, he would no longer need that particular threat in order to have Amy do his bidding. There would be other, far worse things by then...photographs, videos, dirty letters she would write him.

Baines smiled. There was so much to look forward to, to live for. For the first time since his wife had left him, he felt good -- REALLY good.

She was there waiting for him when he entered his office at eight thirty seven. The coffee, still steaming, was waiting for him, welcoming him to a new day at the bank. Beside his desk, his new secretary waited patiently, holding a small note pad and pencil, ready for any task he gave her.

She had taken instruction well -- a good sign so early on. The pink tank top ended midriff, displaying her flat pale tummy. He made a mental note to have her go to a tanning salon on a regular basis -- he liked a healthy golden glow. Underneath her small pert breasts stretched the material a bit more than yesterday. The bandaid sized black spandex miniskirt hugged her slim hips jealously though inadequate to the job of hiding her charms. Bending over for Amy would be quite a dilemma in that skirt. He guessed the patterned black stockings were thigh-highs, the rose pattern creeping naughtily up between her coltish legs, promising, promising to give up all her secrets underneath... He nodded at the now mandatory black high heels, a cheap open toed black patent leather pair that revealed her newly painted red toenails.

The rest of Amy was transformed too. The prim mousy young housewife from the previous day was gone. The straight brown hair that had hung midway down her back was now curled, teased wildly and heavily sprayed. Wild tresses framed the face, spilling and shaking enticingly with every spare motion. The eyeshadow was blue, the "Ivory fresh" look replaced by lots of blush, foundation and penciling. It would take her an hour and a half every morning just to get ready for work, he thought. The lips were brightly painted with a fire engine red lipstick, which matched the nail polish she now wore. Cheap plastic bangles clattered gently now whenever she moved her wrist. The gold hoops were enhanced by the plastic red heart-shaped post studs she now wore. Baines winced, uncharacteristically, at the thought of a triple piercing. The coup de grace were the items she didn't wear today -- her engagement ring and wedding band. Amy looked like she might have just come from a meatmarket pick-up bar or some sleazy discotheque, on a man prowl.

"Good morning, Amy. You look very pretty today." He made pretty sound like a dirty word.

"Good morning Mr. Baines! Thank you VERY much Mr. Baines," she gushed. The smile was pure 100% bedtime for bimbo.

He took his seat, while she remained standing, waiting. "Did you talk with Wendell? I heard he's starting his new job tonight."

She bobbed her head. "Yes, Sir. He wanted to make an appointment with you today to thank you for him... and me."

"Keep him waiting. Maybe I can spare a minute after lunch. Say, he didn't have much luck with the Unemployment office, did he?" Baines chided her.

The synthetic lusciousness of Amy's smile dimmed for a millisecond. "Sir?"

"I know he kept trying to get another job and keep his unemployment coming in. But the law states that when you are offered a job, you have to take it -- otherwise you forfeit your unemployment. I let the state office know that, because I wouldn't want Wendell to miss out on such a good opportunity."

Amy's eyes were well-deep now. At the bottom of the well was animal fear of him, fear that he had known about Wendell's stubbornness to taking the menial job Baines had set up for him. If he could know about that, then he would know...

"Did you two make love last night like I told you too? Like two little fuck bunnies I bet." Baines sneered.

Amy nodded brightly. "Yes, Sir, we did."

The memory of their lovemaking was painful. Why was she crying, Wendell asked. We're so lucky -- we're going to keep our home! her husband had tried to cheer her. She had said she was just so, very, very happy. That was why she was crying. Thank God Wendell had left early for his human resources paperwork meeting at the factory and wasn't there when Mr. Baines had called. But of course, Mr. Baines KNEW Wendell would be gone by then.

Baines took it in amused stride. "That's good. From now on, I won't allow it very often. After I called you this morning, did you douche?"

"Oh yes, Mr. Baines! At once, just like you told me to, Sir!"

"Good girl. And you did like I told you, Amy?"

It was hard to keep her smile plastered on her face. It was slipping now, the humiliation burning and building. "Y-yes, Mr. Baines, I did. J-just like you told me Sir." Her face was blushing hotter than her blush now.

Baines sipped his coffee. "Good. Show me, then Amy." He leaned back in his chair to enjoy the show.

Quaking, she set the notepad down and put her hands on the midriff trim of the tight pink top. Jerkily she pulled it up and over her head. Looking up, she assumed the lingerie model smile and thrust her chest out, hesitating only a second. Her breasts were lovingly cupped by a milky white brassiere, nuzzled by the confection of styled lace and unseen wiring which gave her small bosom a curvy boost. Between the bra cups was a darling bright red rosette, the thin shoulder straps similar decorated where they met the top of the cups. It was a romantic garment, not meant for everyday occasions.

Baines nodded wordlessly.

Amy unzipped the tight miniskirt, feeling her hips pop out of the confines of the strict, shaping material. Baines had been right -- the silky black stockings rode high up her thighs, ending incongruously below a white thong panty. The panty matched the bra, all virginal white and almost innocent in it's schoolgirlishness. The small white silk panel was decorated with the delicate bright red rosette on each hip and between the legs, where it was held by a single snap to the thong between her legs.

"And you shaved I take it?"

Amy's head bobbed. "Yes, Mr. Baines. I'll keep it shaved from now on, like you said to, Sir." How would she explain to Wendell why she kept her pussy shaved bare? She would have to ask Mr. Baines for ideas -- she was running out of them and she was sure he had an answer for her to use.

Baines stood up, moving to the other side of the desk. "And this what you wore, Amy?"

She thought of the hotel room that night at Niagara Falls. The excitement, the thrill of dressing this way for her man, her husband on their wedding night. Of the way his eyes had shone with love for her. Of the way she had surrendered to her husbands' love so easily, so gratefully.

"Yes, Mr. Baines. This was what I wore on my honeymoon for Wendell." Keep the smile, don't cry, be brave...

Baines stroked the bra strap, then fingered the rosette between the two cups. It was the most intimate contact with Amy yet and she involuntarily shrunk from it, then catching herself, reversed herself and pressed the rosette back into Baine's hand.

"Adorable. And now you must wear it for the new man in your life, Amy -- me. And you'll wear your honeymoon dainties for our first time together too. But after today, you will throw them out. They aren't appropriate for you anymore Amy. White is for good little wifeys and we both know you aren't that anymore. Black and red, Amy -- slut colors from now on."

Amy didn't answer. The plastic smile, the frozen eyes downcast as she watched Mr. Baines unzip his pants.

"Let's get to work then, shall we? Bend over the desk, Amy."

Outside the office, secretaries were busily preparing banking documents, the clicking-clacking of computer printers and typewriters filling the cavernous bank with the sounds of mortgages being prepared, deeds being registered, statements being generated for scores of homeowners. Each and every day thousands of mortgages are processed, each representing struggle, persistence and a whole change of life. Owning property -- it was The American Dream, a dream which had just come true for one man, Robert Parker Baines.

"Blessed are the dead that the rain falls on," droned the minister. The mourners nodded their heads in dutiful silence, huddling under black umbrellas as the incessant drizzle misted downward from the gray-black sky. It was a large crowd -- bank employees, business partners, golf mates, neighbors, and those who had known him in all his various guises as a pillar of the community. Robert Parker Baines had been known and admired by so many in Bentson County. The sudden heart attack that had stricken him while in the midst of a bank meeting had taken them all by surprise.

Kathryn stood behind the minister, somber and thoughtful as he read benediction over her father's funeral. The recent divorcee appeared calm and in control, under the circumstances. It was her father's steely eyes that surveyed the crowd, taking an account of all who had come to pay respects.

Briefly those eyes rested, emotionlessly, on Amy. She had purposely chosen an unobtrusive spot on the edge of the group, somewhat embarrassed about her attire. It would draw attention if she didn't attend the funeral of her boss Mr. Baines and there had been no time to shop for a suitable outfit. She had gritted her teeth and slipped into the closest thing she had to proper mourning garb -- a black spandex miniskirt, a form-fitting sleeveless black turtle neck, black stockings and her four inch black spike heels. The looks of the other mourners had warned her to seek a place in the back, stares that announced she was a stupid little slut who didn't know any better that to dress that way for a funeral.

Kathryn had discovered her effortlessly, as if she knew Amy would be there. Their eyes locked for a moment in the space of the gray, wet air, then returned to the minister.

"Robert Baines will always be remembered as a paragon, an example for others to follow. Those of you who knew him closely know that just in the last few years he displayed a love for life that was inspiring..."

Memories of Robert Parker Baines flooded Amy Walenski. She tensed a a remembrance gripped her in a vise, palms flattening against her thighs. Two years ago...

The 'breaking in' period. Dressing and acting to please her new boss. Learning to endure the humiliating comments of the other female employees, the subtle, then not so subtle, leers from the male workers. Learning to giggle at the filthiest jokes males would tell, all while Baines watched. Ordered to ask advice of the male co-workers in the most intimate, teasing way possible just HOW could she make her hubby happy, anyway, and what did men like most in bed? Instructed to constantly pore over lingerie catalogs like they were riveting novels, agonizing over each potential purchase in public -- "The pink lace teddy or the red bustiere... what do YOU think, Ted?" No friends at the bank -- who would want a slut for a friend? Every spare minute away from Baines spent shopping for sexy clothes, or shaping her body with aerobics or tanning herself at the Gold-a-Rama, all to make herself look more appetizing for HIM. And the used condoms left, purposely, in the bedroom for Wendell to find the next morning when he trudged home from work. The tired, disgusted looks from an increasing drunken Wendell in the rare moments they were together...

"-- a man whose sense of propriety and Christian piety was well known to those lucky enough to spend any time with him--" Amy wanted to laugh out loud. Her eyes lost focus as the scenes played out in the cinema of her mind. Twenty-one months ago...

The 'rules' period. Baines laying down very explicit dictates that Amy must obey to the letter. Doing the "four to eight," that wa wa way Amy was taught to think of it. It referred to the way she would walk from now on. "Imagine you are standing on the face of a clock, Amy," his polished voice instructed, "now make sure with every step, you swing your hips first to the four o'clock, then with the next step to the eight o'clock." The result -- an exaggerated pivot that was designed to communicate an attention- inviting sultry saunter.

Other posture rules. Whenever standing, feet no closer than two feet apart to give her an overly "available" look, accentuated by her ever- present hip-hugging miniskirts. Lips to be kept wet and slightly open at all times when not speaking, giving her an arousing if somewhat stupid facial expression. When in the presence of any man or men, eyelashes to bat three times a minute while looking directly at the male speaker.

Amy was only permitted two expressions now -- an ecstatic, flirty smile or a pouty frown, depending on the situation. One palm to be kept on her hip at all times when standing or walking, the other to clutch a pencil and notepad, unless performing a special errand for her superior. Chest to be thrust out at ALL TIMES like a military school cadet.

Clothing rules. All new clothing to be modeled in the privacy of Mr. Baines' office to ensure the building of an appropriate wardrobe. All shopping restricted to either junior miss clothing or "club" clothes, giving her two alternating 'looks': the first that of a shyly suggestive high schooler in her clingy angora sweaters, poodle skirts, lacy ankle stockings and pink heels; the second that of a night club-hopping working girl on a nighttime adventure, in her leather miniskirts, see- through black lace tops, seamed black stockings and stiletto black heels. The visible pantyline rule -- no miniskirt, shorts or hot pants purchased unless the pantyline was clearly visible at a reasonable distance. All of which necessitated many clothing returns and caused the shopgirls at K-Mart to groan whenever the "clothes horse" secretary trotted into the store.

Amy learning about the importance of taking her education in slutdom very seriously. Because whenever any of Mr. Baines' many rules were broken...

"He was a good man, full of caring and patience --" Shame, HER shame, snapped up hard against her dwindling self-control. Her brown eyes reddened, damming back tears. A year and a half ago...

Amy kneeling under Baines' desk, wearing a black g-string and high heels, her wrists securely handcuffed behind her back. Her heavily lipsticked mouth jammed against his semi-erect cock, her lips and tongue trying to coax him toward relief for the third time that afternoon. The frequent sounds of phone conversations and the tap of the keyboard as Baines tended to his executive responsibilities, even as she labored to serve his desires. Pain spiking through her nipples as he pinched them cruelly, twisting them upward, signaling his displeasure with her efforts under his desk. But the worst part, the awful reality that she was now wet between her legs, hoping she would be allowed to masturbat before the end of the day as a reward for servicing her boss with satisfactory sluttishness...

"-- with a respect for all people, an abiding trust in the American dream of continuous improvement based on hard work--" She should be smiling now that it was all over, but as the other mourners eyed her with disdain, all she could think of was how he had made her look to them, how fifteen months ago he had...

Mr. Baines training her in new "office etiquette," Amy being taught the proper way to conduct herself in her position as Mr. Baine's personal secretary. Expected to keep her nails PERFECT, her hair PERFECT, her make-up PERFECT at all times, this ensured by the rule that when not doing carrying out a chore, Amy must file her nails, primp with her hair and re-apply lipstick and make-up at her desk, doing each at least three times an hour. Instructed to reply to any questions regarding business with the same line: "I don't get it" or "I don't understand," thus cementing the impression that if you were dealing with Amy, you were dealing with an airhead. Baine's command that she ask at least three different men at the bank if they liked her outfits and the way she dressed -- daily. The men sneering, talking down to her because of it. The embarrassing things Mr. Baines made her say and do, as if she were doing them out of free will. Like when there was a general meeting of all the employees -- that had been especially humiliating. When the head of human resources had asked if anyone had any questions, Amy had raised her hand and in front of the entire bank had asked when condom machines might be installed in the ladies room. Mr. Baines had feed her the line and laughed out loud in disgust as soon as she had asked it, her cheeks burning in shame. The way he had told her to dress for the annual bank Halloween party -- as a Playboy Bunny. The way the women kept their boyfriends and husbands as far away from her as they could and the way she had been fondled and groped through the whole evening by virtually all the bank's male employees... Mr. Baines watching impassively as she was pinched and patted on her bunny tail, as his dazed and confused secretary smiled in dumb shame.

"...a wise executive whose business career was long and distinguished, a man respected by those he dealt with..." Amy's brown eyes trickling two wet beads. A year ago...

Trembling, Amy asking the clerk in the Adult Novelties Shop the name and price of each and every dildo and vibrator for sale. Trying to hold back tears as she obediently wrote down the information on a pad to report back to Mr. Baines, while the scruffy clerk looked her over and slowly, very slowly, gave her the information so important to her. Mr. Baines angry, sending her back to the store the next day. How could he make a decision without knowing what colors they were available in? Her arousal almost constant now, a lusty flush on her face from morning to night for all to see...

"...a man who believed in helping people achieve their greatest hopes and desires..." Amy winced, still seeing herself eight months ago...

Amy sitting across from Ms. Jensen in the bank cafeteria, the woman executive Amy had invited to have lunch with her. Despite her increasingly slutty appearance and bimbo reputation, the up-and- coming Ms. Jensen had readily agreed, pleased to advise another woman how to succeed in the banking world. Amy had always admired Ms. Jensen -- her success (a vice president like Mr. Baines at only twenty-eight!), her assertiveness, her openly avowed feminism and confident attitude. And it was those qualities that had made this lunch meeting so important to Mr. Baines. Because Ms. Jensen was a rival, one that needed to be reminded of a woman's "proper place".

Amy sitting across from the female executive, the rest of the bank employees filling up the small cafeteria. Smiling lamely at the woman, watching Mr. Baines, beseeching him from across the room with her eyes. DON'T MAKE ME DO THIS! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE... but the cold slate eyes ignoring the silent, screaming plea. Ms. Jensen looking worried...

"Are you all right Amy? You look flushed." Ms. Jensen's kind, worried words, the concerned look...

Mr. Baines adjusting the small remote control in his hand, the thrumming of the vibrator increasing between Amy's legs...

"Do you need some water or something?" The sharp young vice president more suspicious now -- was there more to this casual meeting than met the eye? Over her shoulder, her boss turning the remote up faster now...

Amy's lips parted, the sigh of bliss betraying her building orgasm. The throbbing vibrator within faster and faster, Baines' laughter as she began to moan uncontrollably.

The woman executive backing away in disgust. "Amy, I'm, uh, flattered, but I --"

Amy bucking now, biting her slips and moaning like a slut in heat, all the time keeping her eyes locked on the other woman. The snickers from the other employees and the horror on Ms. Jensen's face as it dawned on her that they might think, the rest of the bank might assume she and Amy were, but no --

Mr. Baines racketing up the vibrator to full and Amy feeling the hot, shaming desires wetten her panties and now skirt, as the rest of the employees watched the whorish performance in mingled fascination and disdain. Ms. Jensen leaving the bank shortly thereafter amid rumors that she was a lesbian...

"...a well-known and extremely generous supporter of the arts in his community..." Her arms clutched her chest, holding the brewing storm within. It was over, she had to keep remembering that, it was all over. But only six months ago...

The video camera whirring as Amy cupped her small breasts through the red lace push-up bra, with a dirty smile for the camera. The yellow neon light of the cheap hotel blinking through the window. Baines muting the audio, then instructing her specifically what to do next... or else. The secretary kneeling on the gray, unwashed sheets of the hotel bed, her hands dropping to seek out the object he wants her to play with. Spreading her knees, a puckered kiss for the lens as she slipped off the red lace thong panty and inserts the impossibly long black rubber dildo into her tight, smooth bare sex. Baines clicking the audio back on, Amy beginning to moan, her performance gaining more tempo as she gyrates her hips with the huge prong driven deep between her legs. As she played for the camera, Mr. Baines offering the revelation that her cherished Sexylicious gum was actually a combination low-grade narcotic AND aphrodisiac...

"A humane man, one who cared so much for others and so little for himself --" Amy was trembling as her face contorted in pain, the mascara running a black river down her face as she thought back just two months ago...

Amy kneeling on the carpet, naked except for a black lace corset with garters and her stiletto heels -- and a dog collar attached to a leash held tightly by her lord and master, Mr. Baines. He was giving her more orgasm training.

"Frig, bitch, frig!"

Amy's fingers darted to her smooth, tight pussy, one inserting itself a a others danced lewdly around the pink, quivering lips. She was wet immediately and he gave her the reward of a pat on the head.

"Good girl, good little bitch! Now STOP!"

The finger popped out.

"And LICK!"

The finger found it's way into her mouth and she sucked it dry of her juice. It was a familiar taste by now. She knew it as well as she knew the taste of Mr. Baine's sperm.

"And HEEL!"

She dropped to her fours, spreading her legs and sticking her bare ass high in the air for her master. Her master mounted her from behind, penetrating Amy in the orifice least pleasurable to her, but as he did, Amy moaned and bucked. In the mirror, Baines could see Amy's dirty girl leer, her panting mouth, her hungry lips and tongue, the way the nipples on her small, pert breasts were as hard as angry red diamonds. He could feel her young body give way to his assault, accepting the large demanding rod into her tight anal channel. He rammed home hard and she cried, in pain and simulated joy, Amy's knees shaking now. He could feel it building within him, a roaring river crashing against her. He exploded within her, filling her insides with his creamy geyser.

"And CUM!"

Amy moaned louder, louder, louder, then arched her back in angelic release. Baines smiled and pulled out roughly, leaving the secretary panting on the floor, her ass filled with his jism. It was all counterfeit, all make-believe -- but she MUST make him believe. When he came, she must cum. He tugged on the leash and Amy looked up in fear.

Had she been convincing? The whip marks on her ass were still red from having failed the last time.

He yanked the leash up, patting her head and she rose gratefully to her knees. She had been a good little bitch for Mr. Baines, she thought in relief. Because she had cummed on command for him. Mr. Baines wouldn't beat her this time! She had finally done it right! Later that night, she would rethink every motion, every moan, making sure she performed her orgasm the same way next time he used her. But for now, she must force her attention on the next task at hand. She waited patiently for the next command, which inevitably followed.

"And CLEAN!"

With tears of relief flowing from her eyes, she gingerly took hold of the soiled cock and began to make love to it with her mouth, her slut secretary mouth...

"And above all, Robert Baines was a kind man, a gentleman without an evil thought in his entire being, who left his mark on everyone he touched..." Self-disgust gripped Amy as she choked hoarsely on salty tears. Just two weeks ago...

Sweat beading on Amy's forehead as the expert worked below, her brain spinning with desperate curiosity and dread. The nerves in the delicate flesh twitching, tickling with each tease of the deftly wielded metal tip as it danced over her skin. Baines cupping her chin, her weak, slutty smile back at him begging for approval. "This is the way it must be." Her submissive, accepting nod. The body painter finishing, giving Baines a nod. "Look." Amy looking down between her legs, the small space above her pink lips eternally adorned with a tattoo of a throbbing heart. It's center filled with one word: "Bimbo." Baines comforting her: "Don't worry, pretty girl. You'll STILL be able to wear your thong bikini for me..."

Someone whispered "his secretary" and a few sympathetic, though patronizing, gazes swept in her direction. Amy felt the thick makeup smudge and she frantically tried to fix her face as the minister concluded his remarks. Gradually the crowd melted away, each mourner offering condolences to the daughter. Kathryn gratefully accepted their soft, supportive words. As the last of the black umbrellas deserted the burial ground, Amy trotted to catch up and blend in with the departing crowd. Kathyrn caught her before she was able to escape.

Kathryn looked more beautiful, more poised than she ever had. Even in her expensive, severe designer black dress and hat, she was a stunning young woman.

"Amy? Amy Walenski?" Her rich, cultured voice reached out for her.

"Uh, hi, uh, Mrs. --"

Kathryn chuckled. "Ms. Baines again, actually. I've been sticking with the maiden name, ever since I got divorced. But let's go with good ole Kathryn for now, shall we? Like in the good old days at Bentson High, o.k.?"

Amy nodded. She couldn't, wouldn't tell her what a monster her father had been. It was over. Amy would let it lie. "Fine, Kathryn then. I'm, uh, sor --," She stopped, then resumed. "You have my sympathy for your father."

Kathryn nodded. "Thank you. But it must be a difficult time for you as well. I know Daddy enjoyed having you work for him a great deal."

Amy nodded listlessly. "I should go --"

Kathryn touched her bare arm. "Wait. Could you come to the house, after the reception that is? Daddy left you a legacy, something that came up in the reading of the will this morning." She looked in the distance wistfully. "In his declining years, he wanted to pass on what he could to those who he cared for. I think there was, frankly, some guilt there. Won't you come -- say about seven?"

Amy smiled and nodded. Could it be? She nodded. "O.k. I'll be there."

Kathryn beamed, the first time Amy had seen her smile that day. "Look! The sun is coming out! How nice. I'll see you at seven, then."

The first place Amy went after leaving the funeral was a dress shop. Her purse held the first paycheck from the First Metropolitan Bank that she had ever been permitted to cash entirely. She was amazed at the amount. Till now Baines had cashed her check for her, limiting her to no more than twenty dollars a paycheck to keep for herself, the rest going to pay off the mortgage. But with Baines no longer able to control her, she had received her last paycheck directly. It wasn't a lot of money but it may as well have been a fortune. She knew the first thing she would purchase -- a new wardrobe.

No more K-Mart slut panties, she thought as she bought a comfortable pair of cotton panties. No more Wonder Bras, she thought as she pulled a Maidenform off the rack. The spandex mini was replaced with a pair of casual slacks, the clingy top with a simple pullover. All were neutral colors -- she would never wear bright reds or midnight blacks again! Spike heels were thrown away in favor of simple blue navy flats. As she walked out of the store, she sighed, a natural, not a slut, smile on her face for the first time in two years.

Amy considered her situation with rising confidence. SHE would manage her salary. Human Resources had already said she might stay on, maybe even as a trainee teller! SHE would cover the mortgage, maybe put the house she now hated up for sale. She didn't think Wendell would argue with that, if they could get a buyer. And even if they couldn't, to hell with it. They would get a lawyer or work something out. Without Baines acting as puppetmaster to the married couple, they would be fine, if she could just win Wendell back.

She would bring Wendell back. He was so far away from her now, but she would make that change. The look in his eyes when he saw her dressed like a slut said he had given up, but that could be changed. The condoms he had found, she could come up with an explanation now, that Baines was gone. Maybe not tell Wendell EVERYTHING that had happened, no that would only make him feel more worthless than the last two years already had, but she could tell him some things, maybe the less awful parts. Then he would understand. And maybe he would stop drinking so much. They could make love again -- it had been so long, Mr. Baines didn't permit it, hadn't permitted it, Amy corrected herself, for over a year.

And, yes, maybe he would love her again, his Amy, his Ivory Girl!

She returned home disappointed not to find Wendell home. A quick call to the factory switchboard told her he had been called in to work an extended shift -- a man was sick and he would be needed, with a break in between, to work two shifts. Amy eagerly started to clean the little ranch house, picking up all Wendell's empties and the dishes that were heaped high in the sink. There never seemed any time or any point before now to keeping a nice home, but the rushing feeling of freedom energized Amy. She scoured the place from stem to stern, whistling happily as she saw the future open up before she and Wendell.

At seven 'o clock, dressed in her new street clothes, she arrived at the Baines residence. Now Kathryn won't think I'm such a tramp, she thought proudly.

Kathryn greeted her politely, even jittery, as if making up her mind about how to handle the encounter. As her slate eyes took in the sight of Amy's new outfit, she smiled as if she had reached resolution to her decision.

"Come in, Amy."

Amy nodded, trying not to be too cheery in the presence of a woman who had just lost her father. She followed her into a den that served as Baines' home office. Kathryn seated herself behind the desk, inviting Amy to take the chair opposite.

"So, where to begin? How have you been?" The voice was interested, the slate eyes eerily reminiscent of the father's -- sparkling with hard-edged brilliance.

Amy smiled. "Just fine. You know, Wendell and I are married."

Kathryn tossed her short straight blonde hair to one side. "Yes, I had heard that. How's Wendell doing? Does he like his job as a, what is his career in, uh, dishwashing?"

Amy's smile fell. "He's a security guard. Why did you want me to come here, Kathryn?"

The slate eyes burned. "Let's make it 'Ms. Baines, shall we?"

Amy reacted at once, the stab of fear making her brown eyes blink. "O.k.," she swallowed hard, "let's just get it over with, Miz Baines. I have a husband to go home to."

Her former classmate nodded. "Fine. As you know, my father and I were very close. My mother never understood that, which was why Daddy had to do what he did. I can't blame him for having her set up for drug possession charges -- a whole kilo of coke! Sometimes I think he overdid that part, but it did get her major prison time. That way he and I could be together all the more. With her put away for life, well..." She lingering on the thought, then returned. "Anyway we were close -- I think you know what I'm alluding to. But I don't want to overestimate your intelligence, so I'll spell it out so they'll be no mistaking: my father and I were lovers."

Amy gasped. There wasn't any depth to which Bob Baines hadn't sunk!

"And so, he was terribly upset when I was smitten with big, dumb Wendell. BUT he accepted. After all, he wanted me to get on with my life. But I was stupid. I fell for a fool that would choose a simpy little bitch like you over me."

Amy flushed. The daughter was as evil as the father had been. "Gone on --"

"Ms. Baines," Kathryn insisted.

"Ms. Baines," Amy added impatiently.

"Daddy was furious. He couldn't understand it either. So he had Wendell targeted for a hit and run," she continued, nonchalantly. "That moron would PAY for crossing me." Kathryn's slate eyes flashed. in amusement at the remark she had just made.

Amy's face paled into an ashen gray.

"Daddy sent me away to school. It helped -- things got better. But with Mother locked up, Daddy didn't have a playmate. That was when I thought of you Amy. And what a wonderful little slut you could be trained to be. Daddy remembered you from our slumber parties and liked the idea. I gave him ALL KINDS OF IDEAS, ways he could break you, mold you into the perfect little cock-hungry office slut you were born to be. A BIMBO. I couldn't stand the thought of you being a good little housewifey for big stupid Wendell... so I helped Daddy turn you into his private whore." Kathryn Baines held a keychain with Amy's engagement ring and wedding band. It wasn't Bob Baine's chain -- it was hers.

"Fuck you," Amy said firmly. She stood up to go. Behind her, there was a click of a remote and the sound of a moan. She turned around.

Kathyrn was watching a VHS tape on the television on the credenza. Amy watched herself on the screen, clad only in spike heels and a dog collar that was leashed to the leg of a chair. She was on her back pouting at a figure off-screen.

"Please fuck me Mister! Please!" she begged in a little-girl voice. If you looked carefully, you could see the hesitation in her eyes. But it wasn't likely that a viewer would catch that nuance -- the main action was too distracting. Following a muted order, she spread her legs wide and began to masturbate for her unseen lover's amusement. With practiced heat, she arched her back and came for her man, three fingers buried deep in the slick, shaven pussy. Resuming her prone position, she brought the fingers to her lips, and with feline grace, began licking each digit. Throughout, her fearful eyes were glued to the unknown ringmaster. After a few moments, she smiled, a wide "Fuck me hard" smile and rolled onto her fours. "Hey Mister? I love it doggie style 'cause I'm such a little bitch in heat!" she purred. The camera faded to black.

Amy looked at Kathryn's steely eyes, then dropped her own. For another woman to see this degradation...

"No, Amy -- to answer your earlier comment, fuck YOU. I know Daddy did, and often." Kathryn's laughter trilled lightly through the large empty house. "Anyway, you should be a respectful girl to your new landlady."

"WHAT!?!"

Kathryn clicked open a safe and pulled out a sheaf of papers. "Daddy bought your mortgage when you foreclosed. He owned the note from the bank. You stupid bitch, you've been paying him RENT for the last two years. You lost all your principal YEARS ago. The only reason your in-laws weren't thrown out was because Daddy didn't need to, seeing as how you were being such a good little slut for him. But even though he could have and didn't doesn mean I can't. You see, I own the paper on the house now."

All for nothing. It had all been for nothing -- the humiliation, the pain, the torture. She had endured it all for... nothing. The secretary felt the familiar feeling of powerlessness over her life come settling back in around her. Freedom. It was unfair, she had felt it, tasted it, --

"And so to teach that cretin Wendell a lesson, I'm hereby evicting your poor old in-laws as of five o'clock today." Kathryn's cover girl smile was a twisted, feral thing, a smile that tasted blood.

Amy shook her head. "You can't! Please! they're old! They don't have any money! They --"

Kathryn waved a manicured hand impatiently. "They're gone already. Off to section eight housing in the city. Welfare will cover some of their needs, but as for the rest, who cares? Not I. Wendell must learn who his superiors are, and never, ever to treat them with disrespect again, don't you think? Especially his new boss."

"WHAT!?!" Amy's mind was rolling on a rough sea of unreality now, reeling with each new revelation.

The manicured nail ran itself through curtly trimmed blond bangs. "Daddy owned the little factory Wendell works at. And so I own it now. I'm Wendell's boss."

Amy looked at the wedding band, HER wedding band, on the desk. Her eyes were brimming with tears. She had sacrificed almost everything -- her dignity, her pride, her self-respect. She would do this for Wendell. With sad concentration, she played her last card.

"If you let my in-laws keep their home and let Wendell keep his job, I'll divorce him. He's yours. I'll disappear. It's what you've always wanted. And you'll have it -- all."

Kathryn clapped theatrically. "Bravo! The heroine bravely gives her all! True love triumphs! Just one question," she added mockingly. "What makes you think I want him? He's fat, drunk and stupid. If I wanted a husband, I'd have kept the one I had, my dear. He was much prettier than Wendell ever was. Too independent, but certainly prettier. Alas, I had to give him up. But just for your peace of mind, he'll be allowed to keep his job, though only with a demotion -- to janitor."

Amy's pulse raced. There was more, there was more coming. She had to be brave.

"As for your in-laws -- too late. They'll disappear into nothingness with time. I've already forgotten about the whole thing. But your other suggestion was intriguing. Divorce? I'm amused. Yes, you'll divorce Wendell. Men don't marry whores like you -- they fuck them."

Amy stood up. "I'm not listening anymore. I'm not divorcing Wendell. I'm going to get my in-laws right now. "

Kathryn shook her head with mock regret. "No, bitch, you WILL listen. You WILL forget about your in-laws. And you WILL divorce Wendell -- the reason will be how he is unable to satisfy you sexually. You will be graphic about just how MUCH sex you require to be satisfied. Wendell won't fight hard -- I doubt he has money for a lawyer! And he'll have to bring up those nasty used condoms he found, won't he? It should be an interesting trial, don't you think? Who do you think will win -- him because his wife is such a whore, or you because your husband is such an effeminate wimp?" She cackled in delight at the scene.

"You can't make me do ANYTHING!" Amy screeched. "Not anymore! Never again! I'm free -- free -- FREE!" Amy babbled. She was hysterical now, unable to control herself.

"Fraid not, Amy. Take a look." Kathyrn coolly pushed a stack of video tapes, a photo album and a stack of legal papers toward her.

Amy looked at the photo album. The cover read "Amy's Scrapbook." She knew what was inside, but forced herself to confirm her worst fears. There were scores of candid shots, all of Amy -- on her back, playing with one of her 'toys,' stripping for the photographer. There were letters she had written -- all to an anonymous "Big Cock" from "Your Loving Fuckhole, Amy Walenski." There were details of things the writer fantasized about doing, awful things, all sealed with big wet kissmarks and scented with Amy's perfume.

She calmed herself. It didn't mean anything, she told herself numbly. There could be explanations. Or she could move, that was it, she would move away from Bentson...

Kathryn pushed the rest of the pile toward her. Amy unwillingly picked up a video. It had a cleanly printed label on it: "The Adventures of Amy Walenski."

"Daddy had the whole lot produced commercially. You star in your own series, Amy." Kathryn mouthed the names as Amy read them off: "Call Girl Cums On Command, Dildo Darling Does It Deep, Amateur Amy: Striptease Slut, Cheap Motel Quickie Girl, Horny Housewife Hump Fun, Date Rape Dream Girl, "Blow Job Bimbo, Sassy Schoolgirl Gets Spanked." There were four or five more.

Amy put the tape down. A tentative smile blossomed. "You can't use these. They'd show your father doing all these things to me. You wouldn't DARE ruin him --"

The heiress smirked. "Try again, cupcake. Daddy's nowhere in these tapes. It's all Amy going solo. No faces, no names used. Just you and your favorite part of the male anatomy -- up close and personal."

But Amy's angry smile refused to die. It hung on stubbornly. "You use these and I'll sue you. Big time.'

Again, Kathryn shook her head. "No, no you won't. Because I have a perfect right to produce and distribute these commercially." She pointed at the stack of legal papers. "Too bad stupid little secretary Amy didn't read everything she signed for the Boss. You gave his dummy off-shore corporation complete power and authority over your 'performances' in exchange for fifty dollars a piece -- your 'allowance' I believe it was. As Daddy's sole heir, I now hold those rights."

Amy's brown eyes narrowed, her thin, too-long nose was quivering with frustration, her small mouth clamped shut. At last she spoke. "Fine -- you want me to divorce Wendell or you'll prove what a slut I am -- what your father turned me into? You pushed me too far Kathryn. There's no reason for me to do anything you say. Either way I turn, you'll show me up as a whore -- whether you use the tapes OR make me divorce Wendell the way you said. I can't win. Which means in a way I can't lose either. I'll leaving. Do what you want. I'm leaving town. I don't know why you want to hurt me, but I'm going someplace you'll never find me."

The blonde didn't say a word, merely smiled coldly. "Good luck to you, Amy. Where will you go? No matter, I'll track you down. And wherever it is, I'll make sure these," she pointed at the stack of videos," are given FREE OF CHARGE to EVERY FUCKING VIDEO RENTAL STORE in a fifty mile radius. Your new neighbors, new co-workers, new boyfriend, and yes, your new BOSS will know just what you are, Amy Walenski. A porn star. A slut into the kinkiest kinds of sex. You should be a popular gal, Amy. You're right about the situation," Kathryn acknowledged, "In Bentson you'll always have the reputation a being a cheap little slut. But that's still better than being known as an outright prostitute and porn star, isn't it my dear?"

Amy's last desperate smile disintegrated. She looked down. Defeated.

"What do you want?" she whispered pitifully.

Kathryn reached out, stroking Amy's golden cheek. "Just what is rightfully mine, what I have inherited from my father. I want you, Amy. You're working for me from now on."

The young wife gasped and shook violently, shrinking from the caress and shaking her head. Her mouth formed a horrified "O" as comprehension settled on her. "You're offering me the choice between being a slut or being known as a slut? No way. I'm not working for you. There's no way. Let people talk -- it's still better than, than, than," Amy couldn't verbalize what things she imagined Kathryn would want from her, would have her do --

"Better than prison? Or maybe execution?" Amy stood up, sat down. It was a bluff of some kind. What kind of stupidity was this bitch babbling about now? But Kathryn's slate eyes were narrowed in deadly earnest. She passed a stack of papers toward Amy. It took her a minute to fix on them, what they were. As she reviewed them, Kathryn filled in the last bitter details.

"Daddy's business dealings outside the community were extensive. I believe you met some of his associates some time ago. South American gentlemen very interested in laundering some particularly dirty drug money through a bank in El Norte. Daddy was happy to oblige -- for a fee.

But as you can see, his name isn't on those documents, the ones opening the large commercial accounts in which their money was washed."

Amy could see that. It was her name instead. She had willingly signed the papers -- as a witness she had thought. But hers was the only signature now -- just hers and those of the South American "businessmen." Kathryn continued, in a stern, public voice, from a law book produced from the bookshelf.

"Criminal Code Statute 77-A-551 states 'Any individual involved in the transfer of moneys related to the sale of narcotics shall be prosecuted as would an individual directly responsible for sales of those illegal substances to the legal limit of the law.' That means you go down for five million in drug sales, honey. Big time. And there's a death penalty in this state. The war on drugs takes no prisoners, Amy. And shows no mercy to drug dealing scum -- like you." Kathryn gently took all the documents and placed them back in the safe.

"But I didn't -- I never -- how could I --" Amy half-mumbled, half-whined.

"You worked in the bank -- the perfect cover. Signing documents was a regular part of your duties. You simply took the opportunity to make some money on the side -- a bribe maybe. Drugs maybe. Who cares why you did it? You're just a slut -- nobody would be surprised, believe me," Kathryn promised her with certainty.

"So, Amy -- what's it to be? Slut or convict? Either way I'm delighted. Even if you do choose to go the can, how long do you think you could stand being some diesel dyke's bedmate? How long before you begged me to arrange a pardon?" Kathryn reached out to caress her former classmate.

But this time, Amy did not shirk from the caress. She endured it. As she would learn to endure a whole new kind of living hell. Being a slave to a man had been unbearable. Amy could only imagine what being the possession of a woman would be like, especially one like Kathryn. Unremitting sheer agony. But there was no longer a choice. Like her father before her, Kathryn had laid out the facts. Prison would be worse, far worse.

"I have something in mind for you Amy. I'll need a tarty secretary to attend to my needs as I run Daddy's business concerns. You'll do quite nicely I think. You'll obey my commands, I'll do the things I've thought about doing to you since you crossed me. Both in the office and after-hours. I have soooo many ideas, Amy. You'll be surprised. Creativity runs in my family that way." Kathryn's blood red lips offered her prize a ripsaw smile.

"And you'll soon learn that there's just one difference between me and Daddy. I always thought he was too, too much of a softy." With that promise made, Kathryn opened the top desk drawer and pulled out a riding crop. She pushed her chair back and patted her lap.

"Ready to learn your first lesson, Amy?"

Amy rose unsteadily. She had been here before, it was deja vu. "Y-yes, Ms. Baines," she answered, void of resistance. The words came easily now that her fate was sealed.

"A smile, if you please, Amy."

Amy reached into her recent memory, found all the equipment she'd need -- the feelings of worthlessness, the whorish eagerness to obey and please, the humiliating wetness between her legs spreading... Amy Walenski let it all fall naturally, comfortably into place: the smile-leer, the misty kept-woman eyes, the licking lips, the out-thrust chest. The pants were pulled down, the blouse removed without even an order. With docile resignation, the secretary draped herself over her new mistress's lap.

As Kathryn let the crop fall, Amy tensed. Then she began to sob helplessly, then she began to beg for mercy. Kathryn merely smirked, as she stroked the hard crop against the small, shapely ass of her new pet.

"He would have wanted it this way, don't you think, Amy?"

Three years later...

For a mini-financial empire, Baines Holding Company was actually headquartered in a small office suite, comprising of Kathryn Baine's sumptuous office that could and did second as a conference room and the small anteroom outside where a bored secretary sat filing her nails.

Jackson had drunk in the secretary when he had come for the meeting. She was a medium-sized blonde with average looks and build, but her overall bearing was definitely less than professional. And from the obviously dark roots, the hair color was definitely temporary. He couldn't believe the twenty-something was dressed for her work, unless the work was streetwalking. The yellow tube top, the tiny spandex blue miniskirt, the yellow silk stockings and blue high heels -- it all spelled SLUT in big bright letters. She was a class-A bimbo, even down to the gum chewing.

"Tim Jackson here to see Kathryn Baines, Miss," he looked at the name plate but there was no last name, 'uh, Amy."

The blonde fluttered her eyes and ran her hands through her hair, a big, wild mop of platinum curls that ran crazily off her shoulders. She eyed him with an intensity that caught him off guard. Was she hot for him, or was that just imagination? And him with a wife and two kids.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Jackson," she purred. "Ms. Baines?" she spoke into the intercom. "Mr. Jackson is here to see you."

The cold, efficient voice of Kathryn Baines responded promptly. "Be a good girl and make sure he's comfortable, Amy. I'll be with him in ten minutes. Then come in here. I need you for something."

"Yes, Ma'am. At once Ma'am," the secretary replied. Was that fear he heard in her voice? But she was smiling now, smiling at him, her attention focused on the executive. She immediately thrust out her pert little A-cup breasts in his direction and beamed a big, playful smile at the visitor. He noticed the subtle grind the girl made as she put her hands demurely on her hips as she rose.

"May I fetch you some coffee, Mr. Jackson? A soft drink?" She pouted when he shook his head. "Nothing, Sir? Please, if I can get anything for you, make you more comfy in ANY way I can..." She let the promise hang, as she played with her hair, her eyes obviously lingering in the direction of Jackson's crotch. He couldn't believe what a slutty performance the bimbo was putting on for him... except for one thing. It was working. He was smiling -- in contempt, true. But he was smiling. And he was getting an erection.

With a sexy sulky look, she opened Kathryn Baine's door. As the door closed, Jackson could hear muffled talking and an occasional giggle from the secretary. Twenty minutes later she emerged, wiping her lips with one hand and pulling up her tube top with the other.

"Ms. Baines will see you now, sir." Her brown eyes were burning coals for him. He was happily married and she wasn't beautiful or anything, but Tim Jackson was thinking hard about getting her phone number. He hadn't seen any ring on her finger and she was more than available. If he knew his women correctly, this slut was hungry for a good, hard cock.

"Jackson? Jackson?" Kathryn tried to get his attention from the blonde's swaying ass, a bright blue pendulum in her spandex miniskirt. As the horny little secretary bent over to do some filing, he could see without any problem that she was wearing a red thong lace panty! He forced himself to stand up and smile at Kathryn. He was holding his briefcase over his midsection. Wouldn't do to let the Dragon Lady see him with an erection.

"So, the Bentson County Toxic Waste Authority wants my property,' she began, seating herself behind the massive desk.

Jackson pulled out the papers. "Yes, we want to expand and as you know the property is essentially worthless now -- a fact you can't disapprove of, given that your father pushed for the facility a few years ago. Are there any tenants currently in the property?"

"Daddy wanted to clean up the trash problem here in Bentson, Mr. Jackson." The severe blonde smiled. Jackson was repulsed. She was attractive in a conventional way, but she was so damn cold, a damn Ice Queen. "But that doesn't mean I'm giving anything away. As to the tenants, no, there are none. There was as a couple who lived there years ago, but they divorced and split up. My secretary as a matter of fact and her ex-husband. They BOTH work for me so I let her husband stay at a rooming house I own as part of his compensation. I use him as a janitor at the factory I own."

"And, the uh, secretary?,' Jackson asked, a little flushed.

"She rents from me, again part of our employment arrangement. I have a spare bedroom I let her live in. Very convenient to have her around night and day. Commerce never sleeps Mr. Jackson!" Kathryn Baines used one of her father's favorite expressions. "Back to figures, Mr. Jackson. What figure are you proposing?"

"Fifty thousand and you level the house." She was known as a tough negotiator and he didn't flinch as he made the offer.

"Sixty... and YOU level it," she countered.

Jackson could go to sixty but what the hell choice did she have? Why should he let her off the hook? Records showed her father had foreclosed on the property and made a killing. She would already make more than enough. He shook his head, refusing the deal.

"Do you like my secretary, Mr. Jackson?" Before he could answer, she buzzed the young woman in. Amy pranced in, as if she had been expecting this, readying herself.

"Well, Mr. Jackson?" she repeated.

Jackson gulped. The peroxide blonde was licking her lips, hands on her hips, looking straight at him... "She's an attractive young woman, Ms. Baines, still I hardly know what this has to --"

"Just 'attractive'? Look you're hurting Amy's feelings!" Baines smirked in mock indignation. And in fact the secretary was pouting, her lower lip stuck out petulantly.

"Very pretty then."

"Would you say 'sexy' Mr. Jackson?" Kathyrn Baines demanded.

His vocal cord was there, he knew it. He found it, then managed a low "Yes." The girl beamed now, the ultimate compliment he could bestow. She stuck her small chest out again for him. But if she was really pleased, why was there something else, something like fear in those eerily glassy brown eyes?

"I bet if we settled on sixty, Amy would just love to spend the afternoon with you, Mr. Jackson, wouldn't you, Amy?"

The girl bit her lower lip and nodded, her big eyes begging him to accept the offer. Her mouth was so tight, her ass so hard and...

"Yes, Mr. Jackson. I'd loooove to go out with you on a date," she cooed. Her tongue was darting all over her lips now, her hands rubbing her ass and hips. Jesus, she was wet at the prospect of spreading her legs for him, spreading her legs and doing other things... His erection was pulling a tent out from his trousers.

"It isn't your money, Jackson," Kathryn Baines reminded him. "So who gets hurt? Besides, Amy knows ALL the safe places to go, places that only girls like Amy know about. Go on, tell Mr. Jackson. Answer the questions you know he has for you."

Amy giggled, cocking her head shyly to one side. "Well, I'm a clean girl -- I have a doctor's certificate to prove it, so I won't give you anything. I promise Mr. Jackson!"

Jackson blushed. It was the first thing he had wondered about the girl upon seeing her for the first time.

"And I know the best little place to have a date! It's called the Honeymooners Motor Court. Rooms only cost ten dollars an hour and clean sheets are only five dollars extra! And I swear I'll never, ever tell anyone!" The girl was looking at him, pleading with him to take her to a cheap dive and fuck her brains out. What was wrong with this picture?

"What's going on here?" he suddenly demanded.

Kathryn Baines didn't answer the question. But she did put two objects on the table, objects which terrified the preening, pleading secretary.

"Take these in case she gets out of line. She can be such a BAD GIRL from time to time, Mr. Jackson."

Jackson picked up the shiny metal handcuffs and riding crop with wonder and awe. The bottle-made blonde was eyeing him with white faced fright. There was a warm, coppery taste in his mouth. Christmas had come in the middle of June.

"Is 'sexy' worth an extra ten grand?"

What ever was going on here, he could care less about. It wasn't his money. He nodded. "Yes, Ms. Baines. We have a deal. But I want all afternoon -- not just an hour." Had the secretary sighed at that? Were her lips trembling? If no longer made any difference to him. He shook the hand that reached across the desk.

Kathryn watched Jackson as he began pawing Amy on the way out of her office. The ink wasn't dry yet on the agreement and he was feeling her up, probably in the elevator by now. She would be tired from God knew what Jackson would do to her that long summer afternoon, but Kathryn already had visions of what little tricks she would teach Amy that night... things the live-in bisexual slut could do to make her mistress-lover cum. It had been three years and she had barely begun with her plaything.

She closed the office and climbed into her Ferrari. Wendell had washed it as instructed. Such a good servant when he wasn't drunk. Kathryn loved the way he and Amy snapped at each other these days, loved ordering them to be quiet. The smile vanished though. She was pensive as she thought about a problem as the sleek sportscar sped her along to her next meeting.

Amy was coming along nicely. She had been a wonderful secretary and had helped her close hundreds of deals like this. But Kathryn was increasingly concerned that Amy was enjoying her afternoon male 'dates' more than she should. It was as if pleasing another woman wasn't enough, that full satisfaction could only come from a man. She had seen in some of the videos she had Amy perform in with Kathryn's unsuspecting business customers and clients -- a look of release, of love even on the flushed wan face..

It had to be stopped at once of course. Kathryn would brook no such feelings. Amy would learn to derive her pleasure from her mistress's orgasms and THEN Kathryn might allow her pet to enjoy herself -- and then only by virtue of making love to her mistress. She would have to be taken from situations where men were about and kept only for Kathryn's lust. Kathryn had already decided what to do: the French maid outfit would look delicious on Amy. Training the slut to become bisexual was fun; breaking her into forced full-time lesbianism an absolute delight!

But who to take her place as a slut secretary? Her next meeting provided the answer. A young couple trying to buy their first home, one of the cheap ranch houses in Baineswood, her newest real estate development. The wife a sharp, assertive redhead, the husband some blue collar dolt. The newlywed wife had the poutiest lips...

"You don't have enough of a down payment, I afraid. Let's talk rent to own, shall we?" she offered generously.

The wife nodded, the sparkling green eyes and red hair bobbing in cautious optimism back at her. Kathryn took care not to eye too obviously the pert pair of 34Bs that jiggled under the woman's sun dress. Amy would be soooo jealous of her new playmate's bigger chest size.

The young wife was already asking details, so anxious to take this next step in adulthood, all of which Kathryn answered reassuringly, soothingly, addressing herself to the redhead, while the double-digit IQ'd hubby listened in mild confusion.

This would be fun.

The End