LoriCorp: Top Performers free porn video

Dress for the job you want, not the job you have. I couldn't remember where I heard that from, but the saying has stuck with me. I attribute at least part of my success to my wardrobe. How else could I leapfrog my fellow co-workers to become an account manager within three short years of graduating from college? Sure, expensive suits and sharp shoes cost money, but I was always convinced it was an "investment" in my future earnings. That, and looking good gave me the confidence I needed to get ahead in life. Takeovers however...well, they shake everyone's confidence, including my own. But when a big multinational conglomerate called LoriCorp (I had never heard of it), purchased our firm, the first thing they did was reassure everyone that their jobs were safe. The memo extolled the virtues of our young workforce (its true, most of us were in our 20's) and promised that they would be investing the further growth and development of each and every one of us. Basically, I thought it was a load of crap, designed to make us all relax long enough to figure out what to do with us. My theory expanded further to conclude that they were going kiss the asses of those they wanted to keep while making life unbearable for those they wanted to get rid of. As I would quickly discover, I was on the first list. I found this out when I got my office mail delivered one morning. The young kid who they had hired as the office mail boy was nice enough to bring it right to me that morning. The elated look on his face suggested that he too might be on the "ass kissing" list. "Here ya go" he smiled as he handed me an envelope. I thanked him and waited patiently for him to leave before tearing excitedly into it. Inside was a note from LoriCorp Home Office, congratulating me on being a "top performer" in the company, whatever that meant. Enclosed was a gift card to shoe store in the base of the office tower in which we worked. I mused; perhaps my aggressive nature and hard work were paying off. I chuckled out loud; I was definitely on the ass-kissing list now. That point was cemented later when the IT department delivered a new laptop, unannounced. Not just any laptop, but one of the fastest, lightest, best units money could buy. I did have one complaint though, the strange screen saver of wavy lines and swirling colours was really annoying, and I couldn't seem to disable it. Later that morning a newly appointed "Employee Health Specialist" dropped by to see how I was doing. Turns out, after she did a few tests (which I didn't understand) that I needed a vitamin supplement, which the company would provide at no charge. Ass Kiss List indeed, I thought to myself. If they thought that by pampering me, I would be an even better "performer", I would certainly do my best to accommodate them. By 4:30 I was about ready to head home. The new laptop's screen saver's odd, occasional "flicker" made my eyes feel heavy after a time. It was something I would have to get used to, either that or maybe I needed glasses. Even though I had taken a double dose of the little pink pills that were the vitamin supplement, I still felt a tab bit tired. I decided to go use my gift card on a shiny new pair of shoes. Days Later... I had started to wonder if maybe the Top Performers program had fizzled out. I hadn't received anything new in a while, until the mail boy showed up again. Judging by the smile on Keith's face (I found out the mail boy's name was Keith) he had just received a similar package. This time it came in the form of another gift card, this one for a new boutique that had just opened (oddly enough, about the same time we got bought out) beside the shoe store. I complimented him on his new shoes, white canvas sneakers with a somewhat thick rubber sole. They looked comfortable, almost as much as my new oxfords. Apparently thick soles are the latest style too, as most of the "top performers" I met at the shoe shop were leaving with similar styles. The thought of picking out a nice new outfit to go with my snazzy new shoes was strangely exciting to me. I had always enjoyed keeping up with the latest styles, but the gift card just seemed to be burning a whole in my pocket. Besides, I thought to myself, trying to rationalize my curious behaviour, I hadn't bought any new clothing in a while. I may as well milk my status as a "Top Performer" for all it's worth. As it turns out, the new parent company was really keen on offering encouragement to their employees, which in laymen's terms meant, ass kissing and plenty of it. I ended up purchasing two new outfits at the boutique, plus a futuristic pair of sunglasses. I was hesitant, unsure whether the glasses were intended for men or women. At first I thought the style was more like something you'd expect Cameron Diaz or Jennifer Anniston to wear, but the sales clerk reassured me that they were gender neutral, even if the glass had a smoky-red tint to it. I wore them to my first session at the new gym that the company had installed in the office building. It was yet another perk of being a top performer. A personal trainer would assess your physical condition and recommend certain machines and aerobics programs that would be best suited to each person. They even provided workout clothes and new sneakers. I entered the small gym where the aerobics training was to be held, recognizing a few people from different departments, including my mail boy ? Keith. We were all wearing the same tight black shorts and matching tank tops with a wide stripe down the side. The aerobics class was only 15 minutes long, but it was a lot of fun. It felt more like we were dancing than working out. Our instructor worked us over to the driving beat of thumping bass infused techno music. I had never been a fan...but for some reason I rather enjoyed it this day. The same music was blaring in the weight room where I would spend another few minutes on my pecks and thighs and waist. I'm not sure why I needed to work on those areas but the trainer had suggested it, and I trusted that she knew better than I did. The shower room was pretty impressive. Each shower stall was totally enclosed and very lavish. They even provided shampoo and special body wash, which made my hair shine and my skin soft and smooth. I took so long showering, I lost track of time. Rushing to get dressed, I somehow ended up with someone else's under things on. I wouldn't notice the mix up until that night when I slipped out of my form fitting new pants and blazer. The pants were tight on the hips and thighs but loose in the leg. The jacket similarly tapered over my hips to my waist before expanding over my chest and shoulders. I wore the jacket over a crisp white shirt, made of soft silk. I figured why not splurge and get silk? The only problem I had was the extra wide collar which was impossible to button to the top, let alone wear a tie, and the sleeve cuffs which were an inch and a half longer than the jacket sleeves. I also noticed that the buttons were on the wrong side. I surmised that I must have purchased a shirt for left handed people by mistake, and hell, the company was buying...so who cares? I hung the pants and jacket neatly in my closet and stood before the mirror in my socks, silk shirt and underwear. Wait a sec, I carefully inspected the briefs that adorned my hips, these aren't mine, I thought myself. Indeed, I was wearing a pair skimpy high cut briefs... nearly a thong. They were a far cry from my usual boxer shorts. How did I manage to miss that? I stood, staring at my reflection. The more I stared, the more comfortable they seemed to get. They didn't bunch up like my boxers did, under my new slightly tighter pants. That, and with the exception of the narrowish strip of material (I think they were some kind of nylon) tightly covering my bum crack, I couldn't feel them. The only thing I didn't like about them was the fact that my pubic hairs looked messy and un-kept poking out between the smooth material and my skin. That and the lump that my dick made in my clothing was rather unsightly. By weeks end I had trimmed and shaved my unruly hairs into a neat triangular shaped "patch". I just got tired of looking at my unsightly reflection in the mirror. Especially since I had purchased several pairs of new underwear. All of them a high-cut style similar to the one I had accidentally worn at the beginning of the week. I tried to buy all black, but they only had a few in my size, so I settled for two black pairs, one white pair and two red pairs. I don't know why I chose red, I mean it's a little bit "loud", but I figured that no one would ever see me in just my panti...uh...underwear. After all, I was single and too busy with my job at the moment to even think about romance. In addition to trimming my "pubes" I had also found a way to have a nice smooth front. I found that by tucking my dick under my groin and fastening it with a little sleeve that had been sewn into my panty- briefs, and by pushing my testicles up into what I called their "hiding position", I could wear my new tight pants and skimpy underwear without showing off any lumps or bumps. I smiled at my reflection as I zipped up my newest pair of stretch top flared pants. They looked so good on me. I couldn't believe that I hadn't worn them before. Days later... Keith smiled as he handed me my mail that morning. I chuckled to myself, noting how much friendlier and outgoing he had become since being enrolled in the "top performers" program. The fitness sessions were starting to pay off. Keith's body was much more toned then before, a point emphasized by his tight fitting khaki cargo pants which showed off his slim waist and oddly full hips, before flaring at knee out over his sneakers. A snug short sleeve shirt, which was just barely long enough to cover his flat stomach, was worn above. I thought he looked nice, you know, in a manly...macho kind of way. I smiled back at him, feeling a tad uncomfortable with my own thoughts. Why the heck was I feeling so nervous around him all of a sudden? It felt like we were...flirting. I shook my head, trying to rid it of such nonsense thoughts. He handed me an envelope, which I would open the second he walked away. "See ya later Ray" he smiled, turning to walk down the hall with an unusual spring in his step. I shook my head again...I realized I was staring at his butt, which was, if I was being honest...a nice butt. I turned back to my office...looking at the newest incentive for the company's top performers, a gift card for the salon that recently opened beside the clothing boutique that opened beside the shoe store in the base of our office tower. At first I questioned the intelligence of a mans-man like me, going to a salon. But my hair was a little long and messy, and I'd heard of men get manicures and pedicures all the time. So, why shouldn't I go? Later that day my opinion of salons would be forever changed. First off, if you've never been to a salon...go. You had no idea what you are missing. I know I didn't. Who wouldn't want to be doted on for a few hours by a staff of attractive professionals? I had a facial, a bikini wax (I wasn't sure at first but they talked me into it), a manicure and a pedicure. I felt like a whole new person. I was glowing. And with another new suit from the downstairs boutique, thanks to my being a top performer, I looked like a million bucks. Even a grueling half hour aerobics class couldn't change my mood. After showering and gently padding my smooth skin dry with a big fluffy towel I wrapped it around my waist and sat down at one of a row of vanity mirrors that had been installed in the change room. To be honest, the area looked like one of those dressing rooms you'd expect to see backstage at a theatre. We were all looked a bunch of performers getting ready to go on stage, brushing and styling our hair, looking for stray eyebrow hairs (I had had my brows shaped at the salon when they waxed my legs) and applying moisturizing creams and lotions. My hair was a tad longer then it used to be, highlighted with rich auburn tones, and styled in a funky-messy manner that took substantially longer to prepare than before. We all grumbled so much about having to redo our hair and stuff, that the program coordinators eventually moved the aerobics classes to the morning instead of the afternoon. This meant coming in a little earlier, but none of us seemed to mind. Weeks later... The changes and freebees for top performers kept coming. All of us were receiving gift cards for new clothes, shoes and time at the salon on a weekly basis now. I had to make room in my closet for all the new clothes I was getting. It was getting ridiculous, but how could you object to being pampered like that? Someone else was given the task of attending my morning meetings so I could attend the morning workout session. How sweet is that? My whole morning routine had completely changed since I became a top performer. Whereas I used to get dressed and do my hair and wear a nice suit or dressy pants and shirt before coming to work, a pair of short black shorts (with two white stripes up the sides) over white tights and under a black tank top...make that a midriff baring black tank was what I wore first thing. For some reason I enjoyed showing off my firm flat tummy to everyone in the aerobics class. I would wear a pair of warm up pants and a top over the shorts and tank until I got to the gym. The pants were, like all of my new pants, snug; figure hugging on the top and flared below the knee and the top was short and tailored in at the waist before relaxing over the hips. I wouldn't bother doing my hair, and since it was just long enough...I would use a scrunchie and put it in a high ponytail. The aerobics workout was involving more and more choreography. They called it Dance-Fit, or something like that. All I know is it was making me loose any extra fat that I had gained in college. I was down a size in clothing, but I had more energy. I felt great. The Dance class was now almost an hour long, which left no time for weight training. In fact, the weight room had been closed due to lack of use. After aerobics I would hit the showers, lather up with body wash and make sure that underarms were clean and smooth and hair free, like the rest of my body was (thanks to waxing), then shampoo to make my reddish-brown hair shiny and full. Then I would sit at my vanity with all the other "top performers" and apply a regiment of prescribed moisturizers and creams to my face and skin. Then we would all take our pink coloured vitamin pill and set and style our hair, before getting dressed for work. One Friday, our aerobics/dance instructor kept going, well past the hour mark. None of us could shower, lest we be late. Many of us wore our workout gear under our clothes. I chuckled when I saw that "Ki" (Keith's new nickname was Ki) was still wearing the dancing shoes we were now required to wear in class. They were open toed, patent black leather, with a thick ?" sole and sturdy 3" heel. They were required for the new "jazz-er-cise" component added to our dance-fit workout. Ki's heels clicked as he came into my office with a smile. "We still on for tonight?" He handed me my mail, then read the amused expression on my face, "What?" He thrust his hip to one side and let his hand, limp wrist bent, rest on the inside of the opposite hip. As I inspected his low riding, hip hugging, flared jeans (it was a "casual" Friday), the dancing shoes just visible beneath the wide denim leg, my stupid grin changed to a look of intrigue. "I was going to make fun of you for wearing those shoes with your jeans...but," I paused trying to digest the strange thoughts that were in my head, trying to understand what was making me like his appearance so much. "But?" Ki switched hips, raising the heel of his shoe slightly as he pointed the toe down. "But...now I'm thinking...it actually looks pretty good." I smiled. Ki's mood instantly improved, "You think?" he beamed, modelling the shoes for me. I nodded. "They're like...sooo comfortable too. You wouldn't think so for looking at them but they really are." He let out a high pitch giggle; "Oh I'm so glad you like them...so anyway...you still going for beers... after work?" "For sure!" I giggled back. "Okay Ray-ch, see you then" he sashayed to the doorway, turned and blew a kiss before leaving my office. It looked to me like he was wearing lip-gloss. I thought back to that morning, I thought I had seen lip gloss on the vanity counter beside my creams and lotions. I guess I was supposed to put it on. Oh well, I thought, I'll have to wait until Monday. Casual Fridays were good; I loved wearing jeans to work. Mine were practically identical to Keith's...I mean Ki's. I wore mine with a wide red leather belt with big silver studs in it. Paired with platform soled red and white canvas sneakers and a snug fitting knit top was about as casual as you can get. Every Friday after work, the Top Performers were treated to a couple of rounds of drinks, at a local pub. It was kind of funny, but I noticed that the first couple of times we went, we all drank pints of draft beer. But now, more and more of us were sipping on mixed drinks. Ki was particularly fond of Strawberry Daiquiris and I even though I would still tried to have beer; my second drink was usually hard lemonade vodka cooler. (A few weeks later, and I would skip the beer altogether) Ki and I sat in a booth with Glen from accounting and Andy from sales. Normally, after work banter was about...well...work. But the conversation was anything but. We all commended Ki for his choice of footwear, complimented each other on our jeans and casual tops, and mused about what our energetic dance instructor would do next to keep the aerobics as fun and exciting as it had become. We commented on not being able to shower and having to wear our workout tights under our pants all day. The consensus seemed to be that wearing tights all day, felt weird, but good weird. In fact, we agreed that we might put the hose...er, I mean tights, on under our pants everyday from now on. The whole time we were talking, I could feel Keith...Ki...pressing closer and closer against me. At one time he rested his head on my shoulder. I felt a little weirded out by his actions but thought maybe it was the alcohol. I kept thinking about his behaviour all weekend. I tried to keep busy by packing up some old clothes that I hadn't worn in a while donating them to a local thrift store. The old shopkeeper made some kind of comment about me "getting rid of my ex boyfriend's clothes"...or something like that. I didn't really hear him clearly, and besides...I wasn't gay...I didn't have a boyfriend. Suddenly I recalled Ki's head resting on my shoulder. My god, I thought to myself, is Ki gay? Does he think that I am his boyfriend?? I spent the next week trying to avoid him. I would leave the office when I heard his heeled dancing shoes at the end of the hall, and I was always in a hurry before and after aerobics, which was now nearly an hour and half long. Being in a hurry meant I was always wearing my workout nylon tights under my pants with my new black dancing shoes. They were open toed sandals with one-inch platform, four-inch heel and ankle straps. I actually liked the look. Especially with the new ? length black Capri pants I was wearing. With the nice open toed shoes and beige nylons, my ankles and calves looked great. I was equally impressed with my upper body. Even though they had mistakenly given me a black sports bra instead of a cut-off tank top...they were almost the same, and the sports bra helped to support my flabby pecks, which were getting really soft and swollen since I stopped weight lifting. My jacket was cut to show a lot of neck, and a large silver pendant hung at the center of my chest from a thick silver chain. I was applying my lip-gloss in the mirror when another face was suddenly looking back at me. It was Ki. I couldn't avoid him. "Hi", I smiled sheepishly. "Like my eyes?" he chimed. I was caught off guard. I was expecting him to chastise me for ignoring him all week. I stammered as I turned and look at him in person. He had been to the salon again, I could tell, because his hair was much, much blonder then before. His eyebrows had been done again, thinned into graceful arches that made him look permanently excited or surprised, I couldn't tell which. His lashes seemed darker and longer, and his eyes much darker and more defined. "Are you wearing...eyeliner?" I said finally. He batted his long eyelashes, smiling, "Mmm-hmm, and mascara. Don't they just look totally fabulous?" I had to admit, they did look good. He smiled proudly, and I actually forgot that I was trying to avoid contact with him. Before I could regain my train of thought Glen came over to us with a look on his face that suggested he was just bursting at the seams to tell us something. "Did you guys hear the rumour?" he giggled. Ki and I responded with blank looks. "We're starting pole dancing on Monday! Isn't that awesome?" Ki's face lit up, and I have to admit...mine did too. Pole dancing was the hottest trend in fitness. I know it sounds kind of...risqu? but it's supposed to be a hell of a workout. "Anyhow, I guess we'll find out on Monday, "Glen chimed, as he headed for the door in a smart looking Capri-pantsuit, similar to my own but in a deep chocolate brown colour, "Oh Ray-ch," he paused turning to me, "I love those shoes". He winked and walked out. Ki echoed Glen's sentiments, "Ooo, they are nice, way to go Rach." That following Monday... Our dance instructor welcomed us that morning with good news and bad news. The good news was that the rumours were true and we were going to start pole dancing as part of our aerobics sessions. The bad news was that it meant we would have to start doing our aerobics program off site. They had to build special supports for the poles and retrofitting the gym at the office would be too much. The top performers program would be moved into a new location that was more appropriate and could accommodate the new pole routine. The new "gym" was located downtown and was still pretty close to our office. A large flashing neon sign out front read "Top Performers". We were all impressed. The new place had an "E" shaped stage with 3 poles at the end of each catwalk, and 2 more poles atop round "islands" with seats around them. We weren't sure what the chairs were for, but didn't dwell on it. There was also a "birdcage" hanging from the ceiling. We assumed that it was going to be used to dance in too. The new gym also had a much better sound system and high-tech lighting. There were two bars (which initially struck me as being odd for a fitness center) and lots of couches and comfortable chairs. There were also small meeting rooms off to one side. Very small meeting rooms. So small in fact that I doubt more then two people could use a room at a time. I was excited and worried at the same time. While the thought of exercising at the new facility was pleasing, but spending so much time out of the office was a little unnerving. Even more unnerving was when they announced that our group of 27 top performers would have to be broken into 3 groups of nine, and staggered throughout the day. The problem was that with 3 groups of nine, the two hour sessions needed to be extended to 3 hours and with the first group start at nine in the morning, and the last group wouldn't start until three in the afternoon. Lucky for me, I was in the first group, with Kiki, I mean Keith, Ki...whatever, and Glen and Andy. Having been to a few places in my youth where the girls used brass poles to earn a living, I have a new respect for them. The first few days killed me. We gradually worked the pole into our other dance routines. I could feel new muscles forming everywhere. Everywhere except my pectorals, which were continuing to deteriorate. I couldn't go to class without a B-Cup training bra on now. And for comfort and safety, I chose to continue to wear it for the rest of the day. Okay...not the same sweaty one from dance class, but fresh clean one. It was frillier and had much better support. If I didn't know better, I'd say that I had a nice set of small firm round hooters. But of course, I knew they weren't hooters. They were...um...what was I talking about? I was having a lot of trouble keeping my train of thought. I was really easily distracted as of late. The only time I was totally focused is when I was in aerobics...dancing...I mean, exercising. I was getting a little worried that all of the benefits of being a top performer might start to make us less productive. I mean, don't get me wrong, I love getting my gift cards refilled every week so I can go shopping and get a manicure, and dance-ser-cise was the highlight of my day. But being away from the office for an entire morning had to be impacting our productivity. I feared that our group was destined to become victims of our own success. I was trying to explain this over drinks on Friday night, but only Glen was really listening I think. Since the last class was still dancing, we were sitting around the stage watching them dancercise. There were actually a lot of people there, many of them regular staff who weren't in the top performers program. The lights had been dimmed to allow the stage lighting to have a greater impact, and the music, that pounding techno beat that we all loved, was thunderous. For a second I was jealous of the last group for putting on such a show. At one point the bar tender was so busy that Ki volunteered to take orders and bring them to people's tables. It was only fitting, I suppose, given that his job was to deliver stuff anyway. As I watched him taking drinks around to the tables, I noted how well he interacted with everyone, smiling, joking, flashing a little cleavage from his low cut sleeveless top, shaking his ass in those tight leather Capri pants, letting people pat that same nice ass. Andy felt guilty, and got up to help him with Stevie, the intern in our group of five. Gwen...I mean, Glen and I mused about helping them serve drinks. We eventually broke down, after consuming a few more ourselves, and helped out. Before I knew it was after six o'clock and the last group had just finished. The crowd wanted more. Stevie, Kiki, Glen, Andy and I had had so much fun serving, and we were in the early stages of being drunk, so it didn't take much for us to be persuaded to get up on stage and break into our routine. This went on until almost 11:00, with one group taking over from the next. I awoke in my apartment, wearing only my thong, nylons and bra. I rolled over and saw the back of Keith's golden mane of hair. I freaked, jumping out of my bed. I tip toed out of my room (wearing 4" heels until for almost 18 hours had killed my feet) and saw Glen and Andy curled up with each other on the pullout sofa bed. It went to the bathroom and popped two Tylenols, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My eyeliner and mascara was smudged and my chin length fiery auburn hair was a mess. What had happened to me? I used to have short brown hair, and now I was a red head. Come to think of it Keith used to be a brunette too, and now he was a blonde. Why was my hair so bloody long? Why was I wearing liner and mascara? And bra? Why were their two men sleeping on the bed in the living room together? Why was Ki in my bed? As I washed my face and brushed my hair, no answers came to my questions, just another question...why did I care so much? I pulled my hair back into two cute little pigtails and reapplied my black eyeliner and mascara and lip gloss. That's better, I thought. I made coffee and waited for everyone else to wake up. We spent the day lounging around in our under things. Nothing wrong with a bunch of friends sitting around in skimpy thongs and over sized tee- shirts, watching chic-flicks on TV, is there? We did each other's hair and nails and compared the amount of flab that had formed around our pecks since we quite lifting weights. I had the most flab, by the way, a lacy B-cup full of flab with large hard nipples on the end. My god, I though to myself, was I growing breasts?? I looked down at my chest, then at my rounded hips and slender legs. I knew that my ass was much rounder...even bigger then before. The problem was...I couldn't recall exactly when "before" was. When I was little? When I went to college? My head felt fuzzy. Before I regain my focus, I spotted Glen and Andy lacing Kiki into a tight corset they found in my closet. When did I buy that? They pulled tighter and tighter...crushing Ki's waist down two sizes and giving him an amazing hourglass figure. For a split second I was jealous of him. What was I talking about before? It was inevitable. After that Friday, the place to be was the gym, or the "club" as people were calling it. I assumed it was an abbreviation of "Top Performers Club". Our workout clothes had changed again. Our dance instructor told us that shorts made it hard to manoeuvre so we did away with them and started to dance in our bras and panties...or what she insisted on calling a two-piece leotard. We were allowed to wear a wrap for the first little while. It covered our bottoms and thigh-high stocking tops and protected our modesty, just a little. It became a custom that those who weren't dancing would help out here and there by serving drinks. Thank god they assigned someone to help me back in the office. Being a top performer didn't allow much time to do my actual job. Come to think of it...what the heck was my actual job? Weeks Later... Since the opening of the new Fitness Center, or "the club" as we called it, I found myself focusing more and more on our fitness program and less time doing anything else. One day I was packing my stuff, into boxes, so that my "assistant" could move into my office, (what the heck did I need an office for anymore?) when a familiar, playful pat on my ass interrupted me. I spun around to see Kiki smiling at me. "Hey Girlfriend!" I chimed. We had all started using that line, as a joke after watching Soul Train one night. "Hey Rachel", he giggled, "Like...what are you doing?" His face turned from a smile to a look of confusion mixed with disgust. "I'm...packing. What does it look like?" I gave him a "Duh!" look. "Why? You're never going to use that stuff again. Just leave it and they'll throw all out for you", he replied, "That's what everyone else is doing". Kiki's words stung. If I didn't pack my stuff how would I ever be able to go back to my old position once I was done being a Top Performer? In my mind I was convinced that my being in the program was temporary, maybe until year-end, when employee performance would be re-evaluated. Then, I was sure there would be a whole new batch of Top Performers, and I would be back in my old job. I paused, trying hard to recall what exactly my job was. Kiki was checking his face in the mirror of a compact he had started carrying around in a little handbag he started to carry with him. Not that anyone could blame him. We all needed something to carry our I.D. and assorted toiletries, and since our new pants were either pocket less or too tight fitting to actually use the pockets, a nice handbag was becoming a must have. He pursed his lips, and then reapplied the shiny pink lip-gloss that he wore now every day. He frowned for a moment before dusting his nose with the loose powder contained in the compact. His skin was so smooth and flawless, no doubt thanks to an application of foundation. A hint of pink blush on his cheeks, and barely-there pale pink eye shadow gave him a rosy glow that made it hard for me not to notice. I knew he didn't mind being noticed; in fact I'd say he was going out of his way to be noticed as of late. The pastel (mostly pink and pale blue) coloured, tight fitting, low cut tops that he favoured made it very hard for him not to be noticed. This trend seemed to start when we moved into the new club. The more he was noticed, the more he wanted to be noticed. The more he wanted to be noticed, the more he dressed and acted in a manner that would get him noticed. With his body becoming as tight and curvy as it was, dressing and acting more flamboyant and flirtatious was definitely getting him noticed. This would in turn, begin the vicious cycle again. On this particular day, we were scheduled to work, I mean, work...out, almost all afternoon. He was dressed up in transparent pink silk blouse over a very shapely lace trimmed white bra. The majority of the buttons on the blouse were left undone, exposing much of his flat stomach and pierced navel as well as what must now be a pair of C-Cup breasts. I paused, letting the word "breasts" sink in. They weren't flabby, under- exercised pectorals, they were breasts...boobs...hooters. Keith had hooters, and nice ones at that. I thought back to the weekend when the two of us went back to his apartment after work, as it was closer then mine and I was exhausted. We sat on the couch flicking through the channels until we came upon some soft-core porn. Nothing really naughty, but after dancing (and drinking) for a few hours straight, it seemed to catch our interest. We found ourselves getting closer on the couch as we watched, then suddenly I felt his lips on my neck. The initial shock of what he was doing quickly gave way to a new and extreme arousal. Before I new it, I was gently massaging his firm round nipples with my tongue, while he massaged my own firm round breasts. Kiki caught me staring, and the look on my face betrayed my thoughts. "So, are we getting together on the weekend again?" he winked. I blushed...looking down from his tight fitting hot pink Capri pants to his white nylon covered calves and ankles, to his metallic pink heeled sandals. He brushed his off-the-shoulder curly blonde locks back with his hands, leaning forward to give me a peck on the cheek. My cock, neatly tucked beneath me under my black lacy thong, was throbbing. Days Later... My arousal would become a troubling concern. Why was I getting turned on so easily? And why was I being turned on by my fellow co-workers? Why was dancing becoming so important for me? I knew I was in the best shape of my life. My endurance was way up...I could dance longer than anyone. One day someone yelled out "Ray-Chel-Rocks" after I kept dancing and dancing for two-hours straight. The phrase, spelled "Rachel-Roxx", seemed to stick for a week or so, until everyone eventually shortened it to "Roxx". I was okay with that, since we all had adopted goofy stage names; it was part of our newest element of being a top performer. The program director suggested that we take on a new "stage persona" while we did our exercise routines. It was supposed to help us channel our creative energies. So I became "Roxxi", Keith was of course "Kiki", Steve became "Stephi", Glen was "Gwen" and Andy became "Candi". We giggled as our names were announced during our morning practice session. Since the top performers were currently without an office to call their own, we had a lot of extra time on our hands. So it was decided that we would practice in the morning and then do a little "performance" for the other employees in the afternoon. Of course as the routines got longer, our sessions would often last well past midnight. On this morning we were the last practice session, having left the latest the previous night. Dressed in our leotards and stockings we danced for an hour straight. Five on poles, one in the birdcage and three "alternates" who would serve drinks. Thankfully at 11:00am, there weren't many spectators in "The Club". (The neon sign out front had been changed to read "The Club...Featuring Top Performers") I felt proud that the company thought enough of the program to advertise it to the public like that. And the public seemed to like watching our sessions. The crowds got bigger and bigger every night. At first it was a little bit unnerving, but after I learned to focus on different members of the audience it was much easier. In fact, I started to get a real kick out of watching them squirm in their seats as I danced around the pole. I felt so powerful, so...sexy was the word that came to mind. Wearing a tight black thong, with black fishnet encased legs ending in black leather open toed platforms with a towering 5" heel, made me feel sexy too. So did my sheer, red mesh top and black bra. Not to mention the foundation, blusher, mascara, eyeliner and shadow I used. That night, I blew a kiss to one captivated patron whose eyes were locked on me. Good thing I had decided to use an extra helping of bright red tinted lip-gloss tonight. I saw him blush. I know him from somewhere, I thought to myself. Wasn't he an executive vice-president? I decided to "kick it up a notch", slipping my top over my shoulders. The crowd reacted accordingly, cheering loudly, especially the V.P. What was his name again? I started to grind against the pole. His eyes grew wide. Maybe if I impressed him I would get my office back, I thought. Glen, Andy...I mean Gwen, Candi, Kiki and Stephi responded by removing their tops as well. The crowd went nuts. Not to outdone I slowly unclasped my bra. The crowd started to rumble. I slowly and methodically turned around, removing the bra completely before throwing it out into the crow. It just so just happened that the bra landed on the V.P.'s table. The crowd cheered again as I swung around the brass pole in my thong, stockings and shoes, my firm breasts on display for all to see. I smiled at my V.P. and he smiled back at me. I was thrilled with the attention, I knew that my hard work in the "Top Performers" program was going to pay off, really soon. Weeks later... That night changed the program forever. It was impossible to wear a top on stage for very long after that. It was liberating, exciting and the reaction from the crowd was intoxicating. Indeed the idea of wearing the multiple layers of bulky, boring clothing that we used to wear in the office was less and less appealing. My new morning routine would see me slip into a nice top, worn either with or without an ornate bra, a nice pair of thong panties, wide enough to cover my little member, and to protect my modesty, a pair of smooth stockings and very brief skirt. A pleated tennis-style miniskirt that would flip and twirl as I walked quickly became my favourite. Under that, five or six-inch heeled shoes with one and a half or two-inch platforms were the norm. I kept my chin level red hair in a straight, shiny bob-cut, with short cute bangs. I loved makeup tones that complimented my hair, like red and rust-coloured lipstick and blush, with amber, copper and smoke grey eye shadows, blended into thick black eyeliner and mascara. My nails were done weekly and kept a minimum of an inch long at all times. Though the colour would often change. I wanted to look my best just in case Mister Kramer, the V.P. from weeks ago, was in the crowd. I know I wasn't sticking to my motto of "dressing for the job you want, not the job you have", but since I already had the job I wanted, being a top performer, there was no reason why I shouldn't be wearing something flirty and sexy. On this day, I spotted Gwen, Candi and Stephi in a darkened corner of the club. They were all sitting on the laps of Mr. Kramer's colleagues, letting the men nibble on their necks and run their hands up under their short skirts when I arrived at the club that afternoon. Kiki brought over another round of drinks. Something in the back of my mind was reeling. What had happened to our exercise routine?? Why were we all dressed so...differently? When were we ever going to be back at the office doing our jobs? Candi led her executive by his tie to one of the private meeting rooms, re-emerging several minutes later, licking her slick glossy lips. We all knew what she had been up to. Mr. Kramer smiled and patted his lap and my mind seemed to float away. I took the drink from Kiki and made my way to him, sitting sweetly on his knee. I felt so content as his hands wandered over me, tweaking a nipple here, caressing an inner thigh there. I cooed and moaned softly knowing that he would eventually want some time with me a private meeting room. I checked my watch, not the bulky Rolex that I used to wear, but the elaborate silver, chain-link bracelet with a dainty watch face built into one of the links. It had been a gift from...someone. I couldn't think of their name, assuming that I ever knew it. I had to start getting ready for my shift in about 15 minutes. Not wanting to turn Mister Kramer down (or his generous wallet) I rose from his knee and lead him to a private room. Later that night I stood behind the curtain with Candi and Kiki. Our hair was tied into cute pig-tails. We each wore white blouses, the top buttons missing, the shirttails tied in a knot that displayed our firm flat stomachs and pierced navels. We each wore a pleated kilt-styled micro miniskirt. Mine was a red and black tartan; Candi's was blue and black and Kiki's hot pink and black. We each wore thigh-high stay up stockings, under black knee high platform boots with 7" heels. My stockings were black, Candi's blue while Ki's were hot pink. Our eyes were outlined with thick black eyeliner, and our long fake eyelashes coated in thick black mascara. Our eye shadow, blush, lipstick and nail polish corresponded to the accent colours of our skirts (red, blue and pink). We waited for the current group to finish their routine and hurry off the stage. A deep booming voice invited the crowd to give a warm welcome to "The Sexy Schoolgirls...Roxxi, Candi and Kiki". We giggled and blew each other kisses before making our way onstage. I loved our schoolgirl routine, it was about the most fun a girl could have. I was so lucky to be a top performer. Meanwhile... At the back of the club a dark haired woman dressed in black leather from head to toe sat alone at a table. Gwen approached the woman with her drink, a glass of dark red wine. She smiled as she handed her the glass, "Here you are Ms Lori". The woman smiled as Gwen turned and moved on to the next table. The woman took a sip of her wine and produced a PDA from her purse. She brought up the employee listing for the company, scrolling down to four names; Ray, Keith, Andrew, and Glen. She highlighted the names and clicked "delete".