Subject: Mortgage 6/10 (nc, m/f, f/f, bd)
In Part Six, Amy obediently assumes her new position as Mr. Baine's
office plaything.
The Mortgage- PART SIX, by Marlissa
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.
