Conditions Of Employment free porn video

Conditions of Employment by Charlotte Dickles Bill Baker's house was one of those classy Georgian houses, set in a quiet, tree-lined road on the edge of town. Three steps up to the front door from pavement level proclaimed its status, whilst a narrow flight of steps down to a basement-level door, which a faded sign proclaimed was the 'Tradesmen's entrance' established everyone else's. I paused for a moment, undecided which door to approach, and then took a deep breath and walked up to the main entrance. After all, I would look decidedly silly if I spent several minutes waiting at the tradesmen's entrance, only to discover it hadn't been used in years. The solid brass knocker gave a satisfying Bang-Bang-Bang, and I only had to wait a few seconds before the door opened and a rather attractive woman in a housemaid's dress opened the door. I may have ogled for a second, surprised not just at the idea that some houses still employed uniformed, domestic staff, but also that the uniform had an agreeably scooped neckline which afforded a splendid view of the maid's bountiful bust. 'Can I help you?' The agreeable smile gave no indication that she found my gaping mouth either surprising or offensive - indeed, quite the reverse. 'I'm Peter Marks,' I said, managing to obtain eye to eye, rather than eye to nipple contact. 'I'm here to see Mr Baker.' 'Do you have an appointment?' she asked. 'Yes. He rang me yesterday to fix it up for eleven am.' Dead on cue, the Town Hall clock started to chime. Her smile broadened further and she pulled the door wide open to let me in. 'Please come in.' I stepped past her, trying my hardest not to have a further peek down the front of her dress - the problem was, I never had very strong willpower. 'Please come this way.' I followed her swinging butt along the corridor and into a room on the right. 'Can you tell me,' I asked, 'whether this is Mr Bill Baker, the playwright?' She nodded, enthusiastically, and I noticed her boobs nodded in sympathy. 'That's right, although it's a long time since he did any play-writing. Now, if you'd like to take a seat, I'll see if Mr Baker is available.' She actually gave a little curtsy as she closed the door. I was certain it was simply to tantalise me with delicious views of the wonderful valley down the front of her dress. I heard her walk back up the corridor, then knock on a door and step inside. 'MR BAKER,' I heard her yell. 'Don't shout Emma,' an elderly voice angrily responded. 'I'm not deaf. Now, what is it?' 'There's a Mr Peter Marks to see you, sir.' 'Speak up! Don't whisper like that, girl. Now, what did you say?' More loudly, she said, 'There's a Mr Peter Marks to see you.' 'Who's he? Never heard of him. Must be a salesman. Bloody cheek, coming to the front door instead of using the tradesmen's entrance. Tell the footman to have him thrown out.' Bloody hell, I thought. This was definitely not the way I had hoped our meeting would go. 'Yes, Mr Baker.' I heard Emma's footsteps returning towards my room. Fortunately, she didn't appear to summons a footman on the way, and when she opened the door, she was smiling just as nicely as when she had left. 'I'm sorry. Mr Baker is a very busy man. I wonder if it would be possible for you to remind him what your business is with him?' 'Oh! Er, yes. I applied for a job as personal secretary, and Mr Baker rang me yesterday to ask me to come to an interview this morning.' 'Thank you,' she said, and with another little curtsy, Emma closed the door and I heard her retracing her footsteps to the other room. 'Mr Baker, Mr Peter Marks, your new personal secretary has arrived for interview.' 'Ah, about time too! I've been waiting around all morning. Show her in, straightaway.' Oops! Did he say, 'Show *her* in'? 'Please come this way.' Emma waited for me to exit the room where I'd been waiting, and then closed the door behind me and led me back along the corridor towards the front door. Outside a door to one side, she knocked on the door, opened it and announced, 'Mr Peter Marks, sir.' 'Come in, come in. Better late than never. Sit down over there, then I can have a good look at you.' I hadn't been born when Bill Baker was in his hey-day - mid-sixties through to mid-seventies - and I realised that all the photos I'd seen of him must have been taken decades previously. Then, he'd had a reputation of being a randy git; now, he looked incredibly elderly - very small and frail - and was barely recognisable as his former self. He was peering at me quite critically, as though I wasn't meeting up to his expectations. If he'd been expecting a woman with a body like Emma's, no wonder he was disappointed. 'Now then, Miss...' My heart sank as his voice trailed off, waiting for me supply the name which Emma had given him only a minute ago. And he hadn't even realised I was a man! He was not only half-blind, he was also in the depths of senile dementia. 'It's Peter Marks,' I said in what I hoped was a loud enough voice for him to hear. 'No,' he said. 'That won't do. I'll never remember that name. I shall call you Jane Smith. That's what I always call my secretaries.' He smiled. 'Miss Jane Smith.' 'Well sir, I really don't think that's suitable,' I said. 'Well that's just too bad,' I said. 'I never could get the hang of these funny names like Petra, so if you want to work for me, you'll be Miss Jane Smith or you can go home now.' He nodded towards the door. I hesitated. The job centre would cut up rough if I walked out of an interview halfway through. 'I'd better describe the job first,' he continued, sensing my hesitation. 'Then you can see if you think you can do it. It's not that difficult. You have to deal with the post: pay any bills or respond to any queries about my work - I can't be bothered with any of that, now. If the phone rings, Emma will always answer it, but if someone asks to speak to me, she'll put them through to you and you can fob them off. I don't give interviews any more - their stupid questions about my plays bore me to tears. 'Oh, and you'll be responsible for the household accounts,' he went on, 'so you need to check the receipts from Cook and Emma. My mother brought me up to realise that domestic staff always try to cheat you, so if their accounts are as much as a farthing out, sack them. You'll also need to pay their wages.' It all sounded exactly the kind of job I was looking for, something which required efficiency, upon which I prided myself, whilst not being too onerous, once I had everything under control. 'How many hours would you want me to work?' I asked. 'It's live-in,' he said, 'so I want you available every minute of the day to take phone calls or deal with the staff or anything. I think twenty-four/seven is the slang term that's used nowadays.' I hadn't expected that. I'd been given to understand there wasn't that much work. 'And what would be the remuneration?' I asked. 'Definitely not negotiable,' he snapped. 'I'm not daft, you know. I know people always try to take advantage of an old man, like me. So you can take it or leave it.' 'But, how much is it?' I repeated. 'Minimum wage,' he said, 'and not a penny more.' 'But for how many hours a week,' I persevered. 'I've told you already and it's no good you thinking about time-and- a-half for overtime,' he said. 'I can still do my arithmetic as easily today as I could when I was a child, so you're not going to pull the wool over my eyes. Twenty-four hours a day for seven days a week is 168 hours, and that's all you're getting from me.' I hadn't expected that, and I jumped slightly. 'Sorry, you're paying minimum wage for 168 hours a week?' Hell, that would be... My arithmetic was rather worse than his, and I was still calculating the amount when his bark cut across my mental manipulations. 'I've told you. No bargaining. Take it or leave it.' Almost fifty thousand pounds a year! For a job that probably wouldn't take more than a few hours a day. Bill Baker, in his senior moments, had surely not realised that minimum wage would never be paid for continuous working over the entire week - instead some arbitrary number of hours would be agreed, and perhaps overtime paid on top of that - an arrangement that would be substantially cheaper for him than the non-negotiable offer on the table now. In view of Mr Baker's dementia, I must, of course, point that out to him and try to explain. 'For heaven's sake! Are you going to take the job or not?' 'I'll take it,' I said. After all, he had said he wasn't prepared to negotiate, and if he threw me out, no doubt he'd get someone else to take up his offer. 'Good. Can you start straightaway? Emma will take you up to your room, and please will you put on your uniform immediately. I do so hate staff slopping around in any old clothes they feel like wearing.' "Uniform?' I was confused. I had never worked anywhere where personal secretaries wore a uniform. 'Absolutely. I do so absolutely loathe the way you women try to dress like men in this day and age. No, I want you dressed properly: white blouse, black pencil skirt, black, seamed stockings - I do so hate those tights that women wear - and regulation three-inch heeled black shoes. Just high enough to show off your legs, my dear, without being impractical.' 'But...' He held up his hand. 'No buts. If you want the job, I'm certain you won't let a little thing like a uniform stop you.' He leaned forward and rang a hand bell on the table next to him, and before I could think how I should react, Emma had appeared. 'Emma, Miss Smith is going to join us as my personal secretary. Show her up to her room, would you.' Emma looked at me and smiled. 'Yes, Mr Baker.' *** 'All the staff now live in the west wing,' Emma explained, as we headed upstairs. 'Far more spacious and luxurious than the old servants' bedrooms in the attic, and far enough removed from Mr Baker's room in the east wing that he doesn't even realise where we are.' She led the way into the separate wing, and opened the door into one of the bedrooms. 'This is your room. The previous Miss Smith left her uniform behind, so you can get straight into it, now. I'd better give you a hand.' She opened the door of the wardrobe, exposing a number of white blouses and black skirts. 'Look, Emma, I'm having a little difficulty here. I realise that Mr Baker is as blind as a bat and deaf with it, so he hasn't sussed I'm a man, but why are you going along with him? Can you please tell me I'm not going mad.' Emma smiled at me. 'No, you're not going mad, but you heard Mr Baker: neither the salary nor the uniform are negotiable. I'm afraid I shamelessly listened outside the door so I know that you are on the same salary as me. Like you, I went through a few moments' hesitation about accepting it from a man who - shall we say - has gone past his prime. But after working here for a while, you come to accept that we staff can give him a far better quality of life than if he'd been put into a nursing home - and he has plenty of royalties still coming in >from his plays to pay our generous salaries.' 'But Emma,' I said, 'I can understand your reasoning over the salary, and that makes perfect sense. But I think you'd agree that you are in a rather different position to me over the uniform.' 'In what way?' She stood up straight before me, thrusting out her breasts. 'Well, it's rather noticeable from this location that you are very different from me.' 'You mean I have breasts?' 'Well, yes, of course.' 'What else?' 'Don't be so stupid. I mean that I'm a man, and you're a woman.' 'Look at me closely. Are you certain about that?' 'What?' I stared at her. She had one of the most voluptuous bodies I had ever seen, and yet, when I looked at her face - and I realised now that I had hardly noticed her face up to this point - it was rather more angular than was normal with a woman. She had made up her face well to hide that particular feature, but she could hardly hide the fact that she was certainly very large for a woman, and in fact, her head looked outsized for her body. 'Good God! You don't mean...' 'I mean,' Emma said, 'that I spent some time as a gentleman's valet before losing that position and coming here, about one year ago. I think my greeting on arrival was virtually the same as yours.' I pointed at her breasts. 'But what about those?' 'False. Very realistic - I think you'll agree - but totally false.' 'Bugger me!' 'I can lend you my spare pair for a while, just to get you going. After that, you'll need to purchase your own. I buy them from a local shop. They also sell a device to hide your nasty, manly bits and give you a nice round arse. I'll lend you a corset, as well - I don't think you'll get into that pencil skirt without it. What do you say?' 'But your voice is shrill. You don't *sound* like a man.' 'I have some tablets that tighten up the vocal chords - the same way that helium gas does. Initially, I needed to practice a bit to control it properly, but it comes naturally, now.' 'But how do you feel about dressing up as a woman?' Emma shrugged. 'After a while, it's really no great shakes. I *had* to do it to start with, simply in order to keep the job. After a few days, I realised just how cushy life here really is, with good pay. Actually, I really enjoy being a woman. I love it when people like you come to the door and are taken in by me. I think you will probably be the same.' 'Don't you go out, at all?' Emma shook her head. 'I'm paid to be here all the time, and I certainly don't want to cheat on Bill - that wouldn't be fair. So yes, I'm here all the time.' 'Emma, what about... sex?' She smiled enigmatically. 'Ah! There are some questions a girl doesn't ask another, and that is one of them. You'll have to use your imagination.' *** The previous Jane Smith had left abundant supplies of defoliant in her make-up drawer, and Emma sent me into the shower with instructions to use it all over my body, and she gave me a razor for my face. 'Give yourself the closest shave you have ever had,' she said. 'I'll be back in a while with a few bits and pieces to help you look a convincing Jane Smith. She returned just as I was towelling myself dry, getting used to a totally hairless body for the first time since a child. She dropped several items on the bed, then turned to examine me. 'It's quite erotic, isn't it, having a hairless body.' She nodded down at the erection I was trying to hide underneath the towel. 'It's alright,' she continued, noticing my embarrassment, 'I've been all through that myself. It feels unusual at first but you'll soon get used to it.' She picked up one of the items on the bed, and held it up for me to examine. It was like a long-legged, flesh-coloured, pantie-girdle. 'This is called a Hiplet, and it will give you a lovely rounded butt, as well as hiding the parts that embarrass you at the moment. Put it on and see.' I slipped my feet into it and began to pull it up my legs. It was quite a tight squeeze and I had to tug quite hard to get it in place. Finally, I had it pulled right up to my waist. 'That's good,' she said. 'Now, can you feed your willy into the gusset dangling in front?' It was obviously something that fastened between my legs keeping everything out of sight. It was a bit fiddly feeding my prick into it, since it was a tight fit, but eventually I managed it. 'Great,' she said. 'I'd better do this next bit as it's quite tricky until you get used to it.' She knelt down behind me and reached between my legs for the gusset. She was very gentle with me, and it didn't hurt bit as she pulled it between my legs and fastened it. 'There. Now go and have a look at yourself in the mirror,' she said. I did so and I had to gasp. From the waist down I was looking at a shapely woman's figure, with a nicely shaved pussy. I had to mentally force my fingers from straying towards that slit - it would never do to play with myself with Emma in the room. 'You have a working vagina in that device,' Emma said. 'It's perfectly possible to have sex with a reasonably sized man. And the really fantastic thing about the Hiplet and the Bustlet, is that they have Sensotouch.' 'What's that?' 'Simple,' she said. 'There are some electronic gubbins inside which transfer feeling from the skin of the garment to your own skin. It's a bit like a touch-sensitive screen on a computer, linked to arrays of electrodes in contact with your skin. So, if I do this...' 'Huhh!' I gasped. She had tickled the arse of my Hiplet and I'd felt it. 'I have the sensitivity set quite high, so you'll actually find the Hiplet and Bustlet are far more sensitive than your own skin. That makes you feel wonderful as you walk around, and all your bits joggle about.' 'You're kidding me?' She shook her head. 'You'll see. Right, let's get your Bustlet on now,' she said, holding up a skin-coloured vest with huge breasts pushing out the front. 'My God! Emma. They're enormous. Are those the same size that you wear?' 'Actually, these are slightly smaller than my normal ones. Still, I do feel that maids should have larger knockers than secretaries, don't you?' It was a rhetoric question. Personally, I couldn't imagine that the garment Emma was holding in front of me could possibly look at all lifelike when worn. Until Emma moved it, that is, when the breast quivered, just like a normal breast. Five minutes later, I had the most fantastic pair of tits I had ever seen. They bounced and quivered and wobbled with my every movement. 'OK, don't get too excited,' Emma said. 'Plenty of time to play with yourself later. We need to get you into your uniform now. You'd better start with your stockings as they'll be difficult to get on once you're into your corset. 'There are some in this drawer,' she said, having a rummage through all the drawers then tossing over a pair of black stockings. 'Make certain you don't get the seam crooked. Mr Baker would crucify you if you did that.' It was a bit tricky, but on my second attempt I managed to get the first one on. The second was easier. I pulled them both up my legs and stood up, but then they started to fall down my leg. 'Don't worry about that,' she said, 'the suspenders on the corset will keep them up. But before you do that, slip into your shoes and fasten them.' Standing up in my shoes was decidedly difficult, and I wobbled a bit. 'I'm not certain about this, Emma. It's never going to work.' She gave a wry grin. 'It's your choice. You can leave now, without a job, or get properly dressed and see if it's good enough for Mr Baker. If it is, you're on a good salary for an easy life. It's your choice.' She noticed my hesitation, so she picked up the corset from the bed and added, 'Shall we see what a corset does to your figure?' My heart sank, a little as she held the instrument of torture before me. 'Do I really need to wear that? Aren't they dreadfully uncomfortable, and do terrible things to your internal organs.' 'Don't be silly. First of all, yes, you will need to wear that in order to get into the pencil skirts left by your predecessor. Secondly, no, they are not at all uncomfortable, and they can actually make you feel good about yourself. Finally, provided you don't over tighten them - and we're not going to do that - corsets are perfectly healthy. Now, let's slip this around your waist and fasten it at the front.' She was right. It did do wonderful things to my figure, and it really did feel quite good wearing it, knowing it was making me look good. And with the stockings stretched tight by the suspenders, I really did start feeling incredibly sexy. 'Make-up, next,' Emma said. 'I'll do this for you today, but I'll explain what I'm doing, and you can practice a bit tomorrow. You should be able to pick it up fairly quickly.' Fifteen minutes later, I was making my way downstairs to my office, my bottom waddling in the pencil skirt as I negotiated each stair, my tits jiggling beneath the blouse. Emma had been absolutely right about the Sensotouch allowing me to feel all those bits joggling, and I felt bloody good! *** 'Miss Smith. Mr Baker would like to see you now.' I looked up, rather glad of a break. I had spent the last few hours going through the mountain of mail that had built up since my predecessor had left - sorting it into piles, and deciding what action needed to be taken. Emma had brought me a sandwich for lunch, together with a half-bottle of an excellent wine, which I understood was the standard fare for the secretary. I decided I could get used to this kind of job, especially as I came to the conclusion that, once I had this job sorted out, there would be very little work to do. 'Thank you, Emma,' I said. 'Where is he? In the same room as before?' 'Oh no. He always goes for a nap after lunch, so he's in his bedroom. I'll take you up.' Mr Baker looked even more frail in the huge, four-poster bed than he had done downstairs. 'Good afternoon, Miss Smith. Please take a seat.' He gesticulated at the seat located just next to, and facing, the bed. 'Thank you, Mr Baker,' I said, taking the proffered seat. 'I have been through all the post and there are several things I need to check out with you. Firstly...' 'Miss Smith, I think your breasts have grown larger recently. Can I say they look absolutely adorable, now.' His words made me gasp, and blush slightly. After all, we blokes are simply not used to receiving comments like that. A few seconds ago, I'd considered him half-blind and senile, now I wasn't so certain. I thought I ought to give some response, and the normal male reaction would definitely not be appropriate in this position. 'Thank you, Mr Baker. That's very kind of you to say so. Now about these letters from your publisher...' 'Miss Smith. You always used to open your blouse when I so openly admired them. Have I done anything to offend you recently?' 'Offend me...' I stuttered. 'Why no, of course not. It's just that...' 'Then open your blouse, young lady, and let me admire those gorgeous titties.' I was about to utter a protest, but on the other hand, I reasoned, if that's what his previous secretary had done, then perhaps I should to. Of course, there was another reason why I went along with his suggestion which I probably would not have wished to admit at the time. His admiration made me feel bloody good; I was being openly admired, and he wanted to see more of me. Since my breasts had looked incredibly realistic when carefully inspected by me upstairs, I was pretty certain that he wouldn't detect I was a fraud. So I undid the buttons down the front of my blouse and let my blouse slide off my shoulders. 'Very nice, Miss Smith. Very nice. I'm glad to see you're wearing a proper corset, rather than those silly bras that conceal the breast.' Emma's corset provided an excellent shelf to push up my breasts, but didn't extend as far as covering the nipples - a fact which Mr Baker really seemed to appreciate. 'You know my eyesight isn't that good, Miss Smith. Why don't you bend over so I can inspect them more closely?' It was obvious what he was going to do, so you might ask, why did I go along with it? The justification I gave to myself at the time was that he was paying a hell of a wage for a simple job - he ought to get his money's worth from me, even if I wasn't quite what he thought. But in reality, I guess my main reason was that I wanted to find out what it was like to be on the receiving end of something I had done many times before to a woman. Emma had explained about the Sensotouch system, and certainly, I had found that the material of my blouse rubbing against my nipples was extremely erotic. Several times I had gently rubbed myself through the blouse and found it to be highly arousing. Now, he was obviously going to suck my tit and I went along with it. I leaned forward so that my tits dangled in front of his face. 'I still can't see them properly, Miss Smith. Bring them closer.' Then his mouth was closing over my left nipple and I gasped with pleasure, it felt so good. 'You could never resist that, could you, Miss Smith? But maybe the other one is waiting its turn.' And he was sucking on my right tit - then my left tit again - and then my right. It felt so good, I cold feel I was on the verge of orgasm - but not quite. 'I think you'll feel more comfortable if you lie on the bed, Miss Smith.' What a corny line, I thought. Who does he think he's kidding? Just call me stupid, or perhaps because, for the first time in my life, I was being cosseted by someone who wanted to screw me. Whatever the reason, I was suddenly lying on the bed next to him, and then he was wriggling between my legs! 'Mr Baker, I really don't think we should be doing this.' 'It's all about getting excellent job satisfaction, Miss Smith. I'm doing my best to ensure you're satisfied in your work. Now if I simply slip your legs onto my shoulders, I can give that magnificent pussy some of what she enjoys best.' Emma had said that I would now have a fully working vagina. Would Bill Baker really be fooled by it? I'm not certain at what stage it was that I realised that Bill Baker was nothing like as senile as I had initially imagined. Certainly, he knew exactly where to lick a vagina to give maximum pleasure, and with the Sensotouch on high, he started to drive me wild. 'Mr Baker,' I gasped. 'That's really quite enough.' 'I'm inclined to agree, Miss Smith. So let's move onto the next stage.' He was raising his torso, and with my legs still on his shoulders my legs were being forced backwards and spread wide. 'Mr Baker,' I said. 'That is really quite uncomfortable. I really think you should stop that... Oh Mr Baker, that's not in the right place.' I could feel something very hard nuzzling between my legs; the problem was, it was nowhere near my vagina - more around my anus. 'Oh, Mr Baker! That is definitely not the right hole. Oh! Stop it, Mr Baker. You're in the wrong... Ooh! Mr Baker. That's disgusting. Oooh! Aahh! Mr Baker that is... Oh my God! That is wonder... Ooohh! Aaahh! Oh yes! Yes! YES-S-S-S!' Thirty seconds later, he'd squirted half a pint of semen up my arse! 'How's the job satisfaction, Miss Smith. Do you enjoy being on the job here?' 'God, yes!' I let my breath return a little before continuing, 'I've never done it that way before. It was... so surprising and... absolutely divine.' 'Good, Miss Smith. Now be a dear and pop out of bed and ring the bell for Emma. I think we could do with some afternoon tea, don't you? And you'd better put your blouse back on and pull down your skirt. ' A minute later, I had done as he requested, and I was trying to smooth out the wrinkles in my skirt when Emma came in with a tea- tray, laid for two. 'Thank you Emma,' Mr Baker said, 'and you owe me five pounds.' 'Why does that not surprise me, you randy old sod?' Emma smiled at me. 'He's very persuasive, isn't he? And then very good when he sticks it inside you.' I couldn't deny that, but there was something else which puzzled me. 'Why do you owe him five pounds?' 'We were both in the drawing room this morning, and saw you coming along the road, looking at house-numbers,' Emma said. 'Mr Baker said, "I bet he's my new secretary. Isn't he pretty? A fiver says I shag the arse off him before afternoon tea." ' Mr Baker smiled. 'The old half-deaf, half-blind, half-senile act never fails,' he said. How else could I have got a good-looking guy like you dressed up in female clothes within an hour of coming into my house? And how else, could I have given you such a good arse- shagging by the middle of the afternoon?' My mouth dropped open. 'You mean that you knew I was a man when you first saw me? You took advantage of me.' 'You mean,' he said, 'I took advantage of you because you thought you were taking advantage of me?' There was nothing to be gained with that argument, so I switched tack. 'But Mr Baker,' I said, 'you have this reputation for shagging every woman in sight.' 'And I've just shagged you, haven't I, Miss Smith?' He laughed at my lack of comprehension. 'Remember, what we have just done was against the law when I was young. Even after the law was changed, there was incredible homophobia for decades afterwards. I could never have survived as a playwright if the press had discovered I was gay. So, I always had to dress up my pretty young men as pretty young women, and start rumours circulating. It helped that I had several female friends who "confessed" to having an affair with me, just to get the rumours going. And since I always vehemently denied them, the press believed everything was true and exaggerated them for all it was worth. 'The only question which remains outstanding, Miss Smith,' he continued, 'is whether you wish to remain in employment here, or whether you'd prefer to terminate your employment. I think you are now aware of all the terms, including the need to gain full job satisfaction at frequent intervals, as well as fully satisfying your employer. So, Miss Smith, what do you say?' There was only one answer to that. 'Fuck me,' I said.