Subject: Mortgage 5/10 (nc, m/f, f/f, bd)
In Part Five, Mr. Baines gives Amy an ultimatum.
The Mortgage- PART FIVE, by Marlissa
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.
