The Interviews

“Miss Riley has the applicants waiting in Reception, Sir.” Jillie, my soon to be former secretary, was biting her lower lip, her eyes were on the verge of dropping big wet tears.

Poor little thing. “Come here Jillie.” I slipped my hand over her backside, patting it. Even now, on the edge of her demotion back to the secretarial pool, she snuggled her ass into my palm suggestively.

“You've been a good little PA-- but with my promotion, I'm entitled to an upgrade.”

She winced, but nodded, looking away. “Yes Sir. I understand.”

Jillie was my very first PA, the one assigned to me when the firm hired me out of college. For a junior exec, she wasn't bad. Thirty-five at the time, she'd been one of the “glass ceiling-ed” ex girl managers that had been cute enough to make the secretarial cut but definitely not one of the tight trimmed hotties the senior guys would opt for. Two years on she still wasn't bad—decent B tits verging on Cs, nice legs which I insisted she show off in the mandatory miniskirts she wore to work, long black hair, nice blue eyes behind the obligatory glasses I made her wear in place of her old contacts. But for all that, I was due an upgrade and I wasn't going to let sentimentality blind me to the plenty of much prettier PAs my new title of department manager entitled me to. She was 37—getting on the oldish side—and it was only a matter of time before those perky Bs of hers would begin to sag.

Like it or not, Jillie was going back into the secretarial pool, just another one of the anonymous girls that endlessly typed and filed, drones with cleavage that rarely got a second look from the executives unless very, very lucky. She was losing her status, the vaunted position of being an assigned girl, of being “Mr. Petersen's girl.” The pay cut couldn't be easy to cope with either. She was a single mom barely scraping by on PA pay. The secretarial pay grade was a good 25% lower still. Not my problem.

“I've cleaned out my desk for the new girl Sir. If she requires any assistance, I'll be happy to help. If I can be of any assistance to you Sir, in any way…” She trailed off when she realised I was already bored with her heartfelt farewell.

“You're dismissed Jillie. You may send in Miss Riley.”

She managed a game brave smile and nodded, taking her leave. I watched her ass sway and wondered if I'd ever want to bend her over my desk again or if my new PA would satisfy me. If I wanted her, it was easy enough. All I'd have to do would be pick up the phone. As an executive I had as much right to do any of the secretaries in the common pool as anyone else.

Miss Riley was a whippet thin blonde in her 20s, recently promoted to Office Manager—the highest position any female in the office could aspire to. According to gossip she'd gotten the job over more qualified older applicants because of her aptitude in disciplining the secretaries, office girls and interns under her. While most executives enjoyed taking a secretary over his lap for some breech in behaviour, Miss Riley dispensed it on a constant basis, providing the executives with regular entertainment in the form of paddlings, croppings or even harsher methods of correction. I'd certainly had her correct Jillie before when I was too tired to attend to it myself.

“Sir, the three girls are waiting for you. I've selected the finalists,” she announced primly. “I hope they prove satisfactory. Here are their resumes,” she offered, handing me a manila folder filled with the requisite paperwork. Her thin lips pursed, waiting.

“Ss do I Miss Riley. Do you have them all waiting in the same room? Do they know they are all about to interview for the same PA position?”

She looked at me nonplussed. “Yes Sir. As always.”

I pondered the cruelty in that, forcing the three competitors to evaluate one another, waiting and wondering which would succeed in their quest to land a prestigious PA position.

“And no internals, correct?” I asked flipping through the resumes and the accompanying photos.

“No Sir. My pool girls were disappointed but I certainly understand your desire to see a new face.”

My eyes flicked over the photos before me, barely bothering with the typed resumes. One was a pretty brown haired girl in her early twenties, decked out in a matching white lace bra and panty set. She smiling at the camera, hands at her side, in what looked like a mobile home background. There was a shy innocence about her that appealed. The next was a skinny little blonde in pink cotton panties, arms hugging her chest, that looked no more than eighteen. The last featured a striking woman in her late twenties wearing a pinstriped suit. There was not a hint of seduction in her pose, let alone a glimpse of her body.

“This one's odd.”

Miss Riley nod agreed but she added “She is the prettiest of the three. I've pre-interviewed her and I think she's worth having a look at Sir. Unless you don't—“

“That's fine—let's get this underway. Send in the first applicant.”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The brownhaired girl's name was Penny. She was on the short side, petite but busty and naturally nervous. She waited until I gave her permission to sit, her hands carefully patting down the tight beige linen miniskirt.

“So sweetie, tell me why you want to be my PA?”

Her heartshaped face radiated desire to please. “I was just married six months ago and my husband and I are looking to buy a home some day. So we need to save some money. Getting this job would be a dream come true!” As she spoke, she twisted a ring sporting a tiny diamond on it excitedly.

“How special for you. And what does hubby do for work?”

“He's a maintenance assistant at the RoboCorp warehouse,” she announced proudly.

Trailer trash through and through, I concluded. They might save forever but unless they won the lottery, their home buying dream would surely remain just that. Even if she got the job, between the two of them, there was no way they'd clear more than $40k per year. Allow for the rent on their double-wide and they'd be able to squirrel away no more than a hundred bucks a month. Still, it was good to have a dream. Even trailer park trash needed something to strive for. I imagined the janitor husband coming home eagerly to climb atop his bride, grimy hands on her luscious C cups.

“Let's lose the top, shall we?” I didn't have all day.

Her smile froze and she looked away, gingerly unbuttoning her blouse.

“This is your first job interview, isn't it, sweetie?”

She nodded silently, like a devastated little girl.

“This is pretty standard. I need to know what I'm paying for if I hire you.”

“Sorry—I just—uh—here,” she managed, pulling the blouse off at last, chin on chest. She wore the same pretty white lace bra in her resume photo. She waited as I rose and walked behind her, cupping her breasts in each palm. My gentle squeezing elicited a small gasp from her.

“Very nice. I could get quite used to these.” I considered making her do a full strip, then dropped the idea. She was breathing heavily and was already nervous enough. I'd seen enough anyway.

“You do know that if I hire you, I will keep you in a belt, don't you sweetie?”

She looked at the desk, confused. “A b-belt Sir?”

“A chastity belt. To keep that snug snatch of yours reserved for me. Pretty standard for married secretaries, Penny. Of course, you do understand that if you get the job I'll be fucking you, right?”

She blushed. They all hate it when you state the obvious part of the job. “Y-yes, yes, I do,” she affirmed, trying not to sound naïve. “B-but my husband and I want to have a baby and—“

“Then, if you want to do that, you'd have to apply for permission to have marital intercourse—just like all the other married secretaries that work here. You'd also have to submit an application to get pregnant as well. And I may as well tell you right now that under no circumstances would I even consider letting you get pregnant in the first twelve months. After that, I might though.”

She sat, shivering in her bra, thinking about what I'd just told her.

“It works the same way at your husband's company, I'm sure Penny. Secretaries at RoboCorp can't make babies without permission either. If you're interviewing, you may as well know that any office job will certainly restrict your marital relations options. It may seem cruel but there are lots of good reasons managers aren't going to let you fuck your hubby whenever you two bunnies want to go at it!”

She blushed furiously now but remained seated and silent. She was relieved when I told her that she could put her blouse back on, which she did with lightning speed. I couldn't tell if she was excited or terrified when I told her someone would get back to her on the job by the end of the day.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The blonde teenybopper, named Katie, turned out to be no more than seventeen. The flouncey little hotpink skirt and tight yellow crop top and ponytail broadcast “mallrat” in all directions and I wasn't a little tempted to go the schoolgirl route with my PA choice. Katie fairly well bounced into the interview chair, chewing gum and giggling with nervous excitement at being in a real office.

“It says here that you dropped out of high school last year, cute stuff.”

“Yes Sir! My mom and dad said I had to get out on my own, so I figured I'd better get a head start!”

It was getting so common among lower class girls. What was the point of an education if all you'd ever be was an office ornament—if you were lucky?

“I had saved up enough babysitting money to go to secretarial school for six months, so I do know how to, uh, do stuff,” she admitted sheepishly. I made a mental note to ask Miss Riley just what exactly secretarial schools taught their pupils these days. I suspected it was more than the latest word processing application.

“Well, you are very young and normally I'd never consider a girl without any experience for a position as senior as PA, but…” I was warming to the idea. She was moldable and cute enough for my needs. After I broke her in, my little mallrat might indeed make a diversion worthy of a departmental manager. I imagined her at the end of a long day, maybe tricked out in a cheerleader uniform…

She was chewing rapidly, her bright smile beaming across the desk at me, with all the confidence of youth. Surely she wasn't a virgin, but at 17 she had to be fairly tight.

“Stand up and take off the top. Show me what you've got.”

The smile dimmed as she rose. Averting my eyes now, she pulled off the top, revealing a heavily padded yellow wonder bra.

“Miss Riley!” I yelled, drawing in the nervous Office Manager in seconds.

“Did you even vette this applicant? Did you not realise she's wearing a wonder bra? Katie, take off your bra right now!"

The trembling teenager did so, revealing a tiny pair of breasts. Miss Riley blanched.

“I'm so sorry Sir! I had no idea she was so flat chested!” the usually imperious office manager whined.

“But what did I do wrong? I was just trying to look my best, mister!” Katie blurted out.

“What size are your tits Katie?” I demanded.

“32 AA,” she admitted, clearly embarrassed.

I tried to be as patient as possible. It was clear the kid was mortified by her nonexistent breasts and had just hope to bluff through somehow. “Katie, you're a pretty girl, but with breasts like that you're never going to become a PA. I'm sorry, but you're just too flat to get that kind of job. Do you understand?”

She broke into tears. “I'm sorry! They've always been small! I hate them! I want implants but my family can't afford it! I really do want to become a secretary!”

It was hard to remain unaffected and I handed her a tissue, which she took gratefully. “Katie, look, maybe you can qualify for an office girl position someday.”

She looked up, hope in her reddened eyes as her bra-less little boobs jiggled. “Really?”

“Possibly. You ARE cute enough to qualify for our internship program. Of course, it IS unpaid, but after six months, if you've done a good job doing errands for the office girls, secretaries and Pas, you might qualify to apply for an office girl position—if one opens up. I'll have Miss Riley here get you the forms you'll need to fill out BUT—“ I stopped meaningfully and reached for her wonder bra—“they'll be no more of this nonsense.” I popped the bra in the trash. I could see the money she had spent for it behind those blinking blue eyes but I also knew she wouldn't dare ask for it back if she were given the opportunity to apply for a secretarial internship.

“Ok—thanks Mister!” she offered coyly, slipping her now considerably looser crop top back on.

“Miss Riley will sort you out—good luck Katie. I look forward to seeing those teeny knockers of your around the office!” I winked. “And as for you Miss Riley, send in the last girl. And I'd like to see you at five today. And do bring your paddle. I fear you're in need of a refresher on the consequences of wasting my time.”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Miss Riley hadn't been wrong. Amanda Watson was a striking woman. Short auburn hair with fierce green eyes and a pale complexion with a dusting of freckles, she was pretty and she had always known it. That she had a decent figure was discernable, even through the power suit she was wearing. I noticed the suit had seen better days—there was a rip in the seam of her jacket cuff that she unconsciously tried to hide. Surprising me by offering her hand, I shook it and asked her to be seated.

Before I even had the opportunity to begin questioning, she started in.

“I've know a fair bit about this business as my resume indicates,” she archly stated, her small ski jump of a nose turned up at me. She wore very little make-up nor did she need to. Only her lips were lightly painted a pale red. “I used to be at MacroTech.”

A major competitor. I nodded. “In what capacity?”

“Manager of the Marketing Services Department.”

It was the position to which I had just been promoted. I glanced at her resume. She was five years older than me, had graduated from Brown with honours and had done an on the job MBA at Cornell. All before she had turned thirty.

“Very impressive,” I acknowledged, which brought a satisfied smile to her wan, impatient face.

“Thank you. I've brought some of the marketing plans I've done to give you a sense of what I could be doing here. I'd love the opportunity to take my old employer down a peg or two, after what they did to me,” she admitted.

I didn't need to ask her what that was. She was obviously one of the many female execs displaced by the transition to the new male only managerial style all companies had adopted.

“You are aware this is only a secretarial role, Amanda?”

She didn't like me using her first name when I clearly hadn't offered a reciprocal courtesy but she kept her annoyance under rein. “Of course. And I can do all that,” she snapped her fingers, “in about thirty minutes a day. Where I would think you'd want me to contribute would be in the strategy back end. I'd be a real asset to you, of that I have no doubt.”

I let my eyes drift from her face to her chest, covered by the pin striped jacket that needed a good dry cleaning. She squirmed uncomfortably while I remained silent, assessing her breasts, which looked to be B cup sized. When I broke the silence she was pathetically grateful.

“What's your marital status, Mandy?”

“Oh! Single!” Then playing the actress, she smiled coyly. “Of course meeting the right guy these days is difficult. One who's a success at work and is more interested in a woman with a good head on her shoulders rather than some bimbo…. I mean, work's a great place to meet that kind of man. I mean, just because you have a relationship with someone at work, even a boss—that's not that big a problem here, is it?”

I chuckled. “You mean if a boss was having a ‘relationship' with his PA? I think you can be sure that happens a lot around here.”

She made a concerted effort to keep her expression as impassive and blasé as possible. We both knew what was being discussed in this job interview. “Well, if a boss were to respect my abilities and experience and let me prove myself, I don't see what having a relationship with that person would be a bad thing. It could be a good thing for both of them.” She looked up squarely at me, confidently.

I understood the deal she thought she was offering me and it gave me some insight into the mental games these ex execs played out in their minds. Struggling to reserve some control over her destiny, she was offering to do her old job under the title of secretary. She thought I'd value her and put her to use to do my work while I took the credit. She'd be protected by my dependence on her. She'd have a ‘relationship' with me but only on her terms. Some managers did use these discarded execs in exactly this way but I did my job well enough to know I didn't need her or any of her experience in the way she thought.

Still, a pretty girl.

“Ok, Mandy. Why don't you strip down to your panties and bra now, ok?”

It was the last thing she expected, which was odd given that it was a secretarial interview. “What did you say?” she demanded angrily.

“I need to evaluate you. You need to strip down to your undies.”

Her pretty pale face was twisted in fury. “You have got to be kidding! I come in here and offer you competitive background that could be of strategic value. I can put ten years of marketing experience at your disposal for a fraction of the cost. I can even do your job for you--- and you want me to strip down like some hooker—so I can get a goddamned secretarial job? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Do it right now or this interview is concluded,” I answered coolly.

She jumped out of the chair shaking. “Forget it! You blew it! If you can't see what I can bring to this place other than my—my body—then—then—“

“Oh, poor Mandy! Little business girl got her panties in a knot? Tell you what. You're a cute little thing but I think I'm going with a girl a bit bustier than you anyway. But I might put you in the queue for an Office Girl position, since you've got all that corporate experience you're so proud of. Would you like that?”

Her face was contorted with rage and she didn't even answer. Slowly she turned towards the door.

“After you've pounded the pavement for a few weeks—or months, since you're such a stubborn girl—and discover this is the best opportunity out there for a girl like you—well, give me a call. I'll see what kind of a mood I'm in. If it's a good one, I may let you come in –and give you the chance to model your panties and bra for me again. For an Office Girl position.”

She slammed the door and left. Miss Riley appeared seconds later, visibly shaking.

“Sir, did that girl give you any trouble? I'm sorry—she seemed appropriate when I—“

“Never mind,” I cut her off. “Call Penny and give her the good news. She can start tomorrow morning.”

Miss Riley nodded anxiously and turned to leave.

“And Miss Riley? I haven't forgotten. Fetch your paddle and come back. We'll do it in here. Wouldn't want to undermine your authority over the secretarial pool, would we?”

As her face dropped and complied, I knew that while the other girls wouldn't see their office manager being punished, I'd put enough swing in my strokes to make sure that they would hear it loud and clear.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Six months later….

Penny fidgeted as I touched up a powerpoint presentation I was due to present before the board. I had been polishing it all morning I realised, looking at the clock on the computer screen. Almost lunchtime!

“Sir, is there anything you need before I go to lunch?” she asked anxiously.

She had turned out to be such an attentive little thing. I smiled.

“Come here Penny,” I patted my knee.

Coyly, she dropped gently into my lap. I slipped my arm around her possessively. She had taken some initial breaking in, but I had her well-trained now.

“I've hardly given you any attention at all today. And you, looking so pretty and all.”

She smiled brightly. A compliment from me should and did elicit a beam of satisfaction from my office underling. I had had her dye her hair blonde and had her grown it out, so that it cascaded into a lusterous ponytail , tied up neatly with a bright red bow. The white cotton blouse worked hard to stretch over her boosted bust, the buttons near popping. I unbuttoned the top three, allowing the red lace bra underneath to breathe.

“Better. Such a pretty bra—no reason not to show it off a bit, is there?”

She shook her head, biting her lower lip. “No, Sir.,” she replied quietly.

“You should be so proud of these,” I cupped her breasts. “You're one of the biggest boobed girls in the department!”

She smiled weakly. About three months into her new job, I had noticed that Gardner in Planning had been boasting of his latest find—a D cupped ex-manager he'd taken on as his own PA. I sure as hell wasn't going to be outdone by that wanker and had “suggested” that Penny “invest” in breast enhancement. She hadn't been to thrilled with the idea. “But Sir—that would take up all the money we've saved for a down payment!” she had complained. I reminded her that unless she had a job, there'd never be a house and suggested that she have a serious talk with her hubby about it. The next morning she curtly announced that she and hubby had “decided” to accept my “suggestion.” Their little house fund had been converted into two ripe D cups for me to match Gardner's bimbo with—and the home ownership dream had since drifted into a more realistic plan to, perhaps, one day buy their very own trailer park home.

“Well, Sir if there wasn't anything else---,” she started to lift herself off my lap, eyes on the wall clock, “I was going to quickly get my hair done.”

I shook my head sadly. “Sorry, hon—got lots of little errands for you today. Your hair will just have to wait. First, go pick up a sandwich for me—I'll have to work through lunch. Just want to get this thing down pat before I do my pitch at 2. After you do that, my wife's dry cleaning is ready—here's the ticket. Then I need you to pay this parking ticket. No point in wasting a stamp on it when I can have you stand in line and do it for me, is there?”

She shook her head dutifully. “No, Sir.”

I kneaded her breasts and marveled how much firmer they were now as compared to her smaller, natural pair. “After that, I need you to go over to Victoria Secrets in the mall. My anniversary is coming up and I want to surprise Martha with something sexy. Pick out three—no four—little ensembles for her. You know her sizes and all?”

She nodded, her face flushed from my fondling. “Y-yes, Sir.”

“Put it on my account. Have them wrapped as well—not the store stuff either. Pick up some nice wrapping paper and do it yourself. I can't wait to surprise her this weekend. Damn, she'll go crazy when she sees the diamond tennis bracelet. Speaking of which, pick up the tickets at the travel agent's on your way back. Martha loved Barbados—it's where we spent our honeymoon!” I gave my PA a gentle push off my lap and a little slap to send her on her way.

I had turned back to my screen when I noticed her dwaddling.

“What is it, Penny?”

She was clearly embarrassed about whatever it was she was so reluctant to bring up. “Uh, I was just wondering if you had thought about my, uh, application?”

Ah! The application she has so painstakingly completed and left for my consideration in my In Box several weeks earlier. I sifted through it, knowing full well I kept sliding it to the bottom of my daily intake. “Right. Is this it? Application to engage in intercourse with your husband?”

She nodded meekly. “It would mean a lot to him, uh I mean us, Sir.”

“And why is that?”

“Today is our anniversary. We've been married a whole year and we thought it would be a nice way to celebrate.”

I noted with satisfaction her husband's signature, along with hers, requesting the privilege of having sex with his wife. It was only a privilege I could grant, courtesy of the key marked “Penny” that I carried on my keychain, along with the car, boat and house keys. The key to my PA's chastity belt.

“I have a lot more pressing business to worry about than whether you two getting to play fuckbunnies tonight,” I noted sternly. Her thickly painted lips trembled.

“But I'll think about it, ok?”

She smiled hopefully. Suddenly it occurred to me that, while I might indeed be the most important man in my PA's life, her husband might also take a husband's privilege. Was Penny just as anxious to get her marital intercourse request ok'd in order to make her anniversary so special—or was she just as worrid about being punished by hubby for not getting permission?

“Now—off to do those errands, missy! I need you back here by 2 at the latest!”

It was four when I got out of the meeting. It had gone better than I had anticipated. The board raved about the last quarter results and had unanimously approved my request for more budget and increased staff. Even Gardner had slapped my back on the way out in congratulations. A great way to end a workday. But I knew one way to top it all off. I hit the intercom.

“Penny, get in here.”

My pet PA pranced in, exhausted but still on her high heels. Brushing a loose blonde tress and clutching the obligatory notepad and pencil, she waited patiently.

“Shut the door.”

She obeyed, discreetly hanging the little “Do Not Disturb” courtesy card on the outside of my office door. All execs had them and when displayed, usually indicated a “meeting” between the exec and an office girl was in session. Penny wore her brave smile, the one she thought fooled me into thinking she enjoyed our ‘meetings.'

“Blow job, Sir?” she asked demurely. I nodded and she proceeded to unbutton her blouse, displaying those red lace encased rock hard fake torpedoes of her. If I spurted on her bra at least she'd be able to cover it up when she slipped her blouse back on. Like other office girls, she hated wearing public evidence of her degradation out in the open office. Unfortunately, like many other managers, I had no such compunctions, often spraying her skirt and hair liberally.

She kneeling and about to unzip me when she looked up, her heart shaped face twisted up with courage. “Uh, Sir, just before you forget—I know you're busy and all—but, my application? I was just wondering—“

I had to admire her persistence. I feigned surprise. “Yes, of course! I forgot! Your wedding anniversary! Come up here Penny!” I patted my lap again and warily she rose and placed her tight little miniskirted ass on my knee.

“Such a special day and an exciting one for my little secretary, isn't it?”

She nodded sweetly, expectantly. I could see the wheels turning. Maybe she'd get to spread her legs for janitor hubby after all!!!

“That's why you wanted to get your hair done—as a treat for your husband, isn't it?”

She nodded happily. “Yes, Sir! I'm going to cook his favourite for him—a steak!—and then we're going to watch “Sleepless In Seattle” on tv!”

“What a nice way to spend your anniversary! Tell you what—let's celebrate it properly!”

She looked down uncertainly.

“Come on—put your blouse on. I'm taking you out to celebrate your first wedding anniversary.”

She began to look around with mild panic. “Oh, that's very kind of you, but I was really hoping—after you're through with me for the day—“ she gulped “—that I'd just get home and start cooking and get everything ready.”

“Nonsense. We're going out. Call him and tell him. Now.”

She looked me in the eye, lips parted in protest. But none came. As she reached for the phone, I slipped my hand underneath her lime green polyester miniskirt, caressing the trim of her red lace thong. It barely covered her chastity belt, the insistent steel-tough nylon that perpetually kept her sex off-limits.

“Honey? It's me. Look, I, uh, have to work late tonight. I know—sorry! When will I be home?” She looked over the phone at me pleadingly, questioning.

“Tell him ten or eleven,” I advised.

She did, but I could tell that wasn't the end of it. “The application? Look, he's still thinking about it?” Again, over the phone, questioning. Eyes locked on me.

I shrugged. “Depends how our work this evening goes.” My fingers detected wetness now under the chastity belt and I reached into my pocket for a certain little key.

“I love you to,” she melted into the phone, even as the lock unclicked. She emitted a tiny gasp as she always did when I freed her sex. “Oh, nothing honey. See you later tonight. Please wait up for me!”

“Better call my wife and tell her I'll be out with clients tonight. Wouldn't want her to get jealous, would we?”

Penny felt my finger inside her shaven slit, which had become ever so slippery. As she dialed, I began to pump her gently. She unconsciously began to pump back, cooperating with the digital rape. Drawing off her bra strap, I took her hardened nipple and began to pinch it softly.

“Hello Ma'am, it's Penny from the office. I'm just calling—ow!—sorry—I'm just calling…yes, he's out with clients tonight. Ooooh….uh, yes Ma'am, I picked up your dry cleaning. Yes, he has it. Oh really? I'll tell him straight away. You'll be waiting up for him, very good. Ouch! Uh, sorry Ma'am. Yes, Ma'am. Goodbye Ma'am.”

I withdrew my finger now and stuck it into my secretary's mouth. She had long grown accustomed to tasting herself on me and efficiently slurped off her juices.

“You're an excellent little liar, Penny. What did my wife have to say for herself?”

Penny was flushed, eyes dilated from her probing and in no way near relief as I clicked her belt back on. She stifled a sigh.

“She had a Brazilian bikini wax done today. She said she'll show you tonight.”

I grinned. Martha was a model soccer mommy by day and an absolutely gorgeous slut at night. A product of finishing and charm school, she was what every executive needed—a pretty bauble. Compared to her, Penny was a ten watt bulb standing next to a Christmas tree. Still, Penny had her uses.

“Get dressed then so we can go out and celebrate.”

***********************************

I instructed Penny to go to Reception and order up a taxi, admitting that if we'd be celebrating, there was no point in taking the BMW. Her eyes widened in alarm. “Don't worry—I'll give you a lift home.” That calmed her, though she still had no idea what “celebrating her anniversary” would entail. Neither did I—I simply felt like a night out following my successful presentation and the idea of forcing her to attend to me on the evening of her very first wedding anniversary appealed to my dark side. Hell, it would at least be a good one liner for the boys at the next board meeting!

It was already 4 and there was little more to be accomplished for the day. I locked my office and headed off to meet my secretary by a waiting taxi cab. I was greeted by unusual confusion in the secretarial pool. Normally, you could hear the proverbial pin drop. Today the thirty or so girls employed as secretaries of various grades were crowded around the open pit of the pool, giggling and pointing at some unfortunate no doubt, trotted out for the end-of-day disciplining meted out by the Office Manager. As I passed through, the girls grew uneasily quiet, parting for me as I sauntered through, curious as always to see who was on the receiving end and why.

Surprisingly, it wasn't Miss Riley who was ready to wield the yardstick. The whippet blonde sat at her command post desk in the center, snickering at the victim who, bent over the desk, panties exposed, faced her with bowed head, shivering.

No, it wasn't Miss Riley punishing the negligent girl—it was Flatsy. Though she now wore the brunette pagegirl hairdo all Office Girls were expected to wear and was called by a different name, it was none other than Katie, the bubbly blonde teen I had interviewed some six months ago. As I approached, she immediately dropped the yardstick and cast her eyes downward.

“What's going on Miss Riley?”

The wan blonde stood up efficiently, letting go of the office victim's wrists. “Just a correction Sir. Nothing interesting. I thought I'd have my assistant Flatsy attend to it this time.”

I nodded. Shortly after getting knocked back as PA material, the Office Manager had maneuvered the teen into an Office Girl opening. No one had objected. While flat-chested, the teen was pretty. As long as her eye candy quotient was high enough, a low level hire like that was left to the Office Manager. It was common knowledge to anyone who bothered to visit the intranet web cam center, the one with access to the Secretarial Dormitory, that Miss Riley and Flatsy were very special roommates. Instead of being forced to share a tiny bed with another office girl, Flatsy had caught the eye of the all powerful (to her) Office Manager and now shared the somewhat less cramped bedroom of Miss Riley, a bedroom in which the two played deliciously dirty games. Now she had even been given privilege to punish another girl.

“Very well. Continue.” I folded my arms, mildly curious in the spectacle about to unfold. The victim was still bent over the table, her tiny black miniskirt hoisted over her hips and tight white cotton button down blouse—the only uniform an office girl was permitted to wear. Her pert upturned bottom revealing the standard white cotton bikini panties. Legs on black three inch heels spread. I lifted the sleek mass of jet black pagegirl mane. From underneath it, the pale, frightened face of Amanda emerged. The ex-marketing whizkid. The woman who had so furiously rejected the opportunity to grovel for a PA job she was so clearly superior to. Now, merely Mandy—one of the anonymous Office Girls—reduced to a robot-like sameness in her interchangeable officewear. Other companies had different policies. At ours, you had to work your way up to being a blonde bimbo slut secretary. Until then you were merely an indistinguishable cog in a giant corporate pleasure and pain machine.

Flatsy eyed me closely, but a direct glance from Miss Riley encouraged her to continue. “Mandy, did you or did you not misfile this” she held a manila fold accusingly, “under ‘F' instead of ‘Fe'?!?!?”

The once confident voice was broken, “I, uh, yes, but I had to copy—“

“No excuses! You mis-filed this file! You are a bad little office girl! Aren't you?!?” Flatsy demanded petulantly. Miss Riley's eyes danced over her teen protégé's slim body, clearly entertained by her domination of the fallen executive. Every since being taken on three months ago, after Amanda had begged for the entry level job, had accepted her career fate as “Mandy the Office Girl”, Miss Riley had made her life a living hell. She was frequently on the receiving end of the Office Manager's yardstick at the end of the day. The other girls avoided her, in no way willing to share her misfortune. It occurred to me that Mandy was still, after three months in the SecDorm, still a “floater”—a girl re-assigned a roommate on a regular daily basis. It was difficult to imagine that her current life was an improvement on her old one, but then it was better than the other less palatable options the street held for a pretty girl of her lowly stature.

“Yes, Ma'am,” Amanda Watson answered bitterly, “I'm a bad little office girl.”

“And what do bad little office girls get?” Flatsy, one hand on her hip and the other swing the yardstick gently, smugly asked.

Amanda Watson closed her eyes, avoiding mine at all costs as I stood over her, next to her Office Manager mistress. “Bad little office girls get punished Miss Flatsy.”

Miss Riley nodded and the teen began swinging the yardstick on the quivering juvenile looking pantied backside of the over-aged office girl.

“I'm a bad little office girl!” Amanda whimpered following the hiss of the falling stick, every time coming out as more of an effort, more ragged, less determined to retain her dignity, until finally the tears coursed and I held her chin between my fingers feeling them grow wet from the sobbing ex-manager. When she started to shape, I held a hand up. It would go on and on to impress me but I had better things to do than watch the extended correction of a menial like Mandy.

“That's do. When's the last shuttle bus for the Dorm?”

Miss Riley piped up in quick response. “That would be 6:45 Sir!”

“Good—give her five hundred—no, make it a thousand lines to complete before she leaves to let it sink in.”

Flatsy nodded diligently. What a little informer/helper she must make Miss Riley I thought. The lines would keep her at the office long enough to miss dinner. She'd barely make it back for light's out—7:30 for lowly office girls like Mandy.

“And what should she write Sir?” asked Miss Riley, at the ready with a pad to take down the line that Mandy would be furiously copying over and over again for the next two and a half hours.

“Let's go with what she is: ‘I am a bad little office girl.'”

Riley smiled and Flatsy did too.

END?

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