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A NIGHTMARE IN SILK AND LACE Book One (One) "Do keep up Gemma," snapped Dean Prentice as he exited the courtesy car with his struggling secretary in tow. "You're slowing me down and in the cut and thrust world of high finance I can't afford to lag behind. Fortune favours the fleet of heel after all." "I'm sorry, Sir, but I've got the laptop, the files and all our luggage." Gemma had only managed to pile half the bags onto a hotel luggage trolley before Mr Prentice had set off with a steady and determined pace towards the front door of the hotel complex. "Well stop faffing. We don't have time to faff." It was raining now, much to Dean's irritation, and getting wet wasn't on his itinerary. "Umbrella, Gemma. Umbrella!" "Yes, Sir." She retrieved the black umbrella from one of the bags and snapped it open, passing it to her boss who took it in his right hand. Dry and comfortable, he watched as Gemma suffered the pelting rain as she heaved the last few bags in place. "I hope this is a good hotel. You booked me a full suite?" Dean stared suspiciously at the enormous complex. In the far distance were well kept grounds and beyond those a high walled academy of some sort. "Yes, Sir." Gemma swept some wet strands of her long blonde hair from her face. The wind combined with the rain to ruin any chance she might have of looking fresh and professional as she struggled with the mass of luggage. "Good. Now remember, we have a busy weekend ahead of us. This Mr Grimm is very close to signing on the dotted line. The dotted line, Gemma! We need his investment if the company is to claw its way out of the black hole labelled 'recession'. I can't stress too much how fucked we are if Mr Grimm doesn't invest with the Prentice label." Dean was referring to his own company, the previously successful Prentice Industries that, since inheriting from his recently deceased mother, he had managed to drive into the ground through a series of stunningly inept management decisions. Oblivious to his own incompetence in the world of business he had blamed all his financial woes on the credit crunch and global recession. And so it was that he found himself in the awkward position of needing a re-finance deal at the worst possible time to seek a re-finance deal. But Prentice Industries still had some good will from its successful heyday when Dean's mother had propelled the group through a successful floatation on Wall Street. Amalgamated Amalgamations - one of the most daring finance houses - had expressed interest in purchasing shares. All Dean had to do was smooth the deal to the point of the bottom line. "Yes, Sir." Gemma pushed the four-wheeled trolley towards the reception entrance. A doorman wearing old-fashioned livery and a top hat swiped a card through a badge reader that prompted the doors to swing open with a flourish. Inside Gemma could see a lavish reception area with marbled pillars and mosaic floor and an enormous fountain in which swam various koi carp. Exotic plants grew around the sides of the lobby, basking in the glow of warm, soft lighting as equally pleasant light classical music drifted upon the air. The Hotel was one of the most exclusive buildings in the state of New York. Catering almost exclusively to the well healed and wallet-rich patrons who expected the best and were prepared to pay for it, it harked back to the golden age of the early to mid twenties in New Hampshire, where the bright beautiful people would dine and play, unaware that the age of elegance would ever end. "Remember what I told you on the flight over, Gemma. When we're meeting with Mr Grimm I want you wearing a skirt. A short one. First impressions and all that." He looked at her current choice of black trousers and shook his head in a discouraging fashion. "I'm not really very comfortable wearing a short skirt, Mr Prentice." "Do I look like I care? You're my secretary. That means the way you conduct yourself reflects both on the company and my presentation. Men like Mr Grimm expect to see a secretary in a short skirt." "But..." Gemma blushed a little. "No buts. I've said my piece: a short skirt and matching heels. You can change back into pants when you're in your room." The girl behind the desk at reception was called Debbie. Dean knew this because she wore a badge pinned to her tight white blouse that read 'Debbie - here to help'. "Hello Debbie," said Dean with a predatory smile as he tapped his fingers on the reception desk front. The girl stood behind the desk on three-inch heels with little choice in the matter since the hotel had declined to provide her with a chair. She had light brown hair worn long, and a perfectly made up face with red pouting lips. "Hello, Sir." She smiled a bright smile, as she was required to do whenever a guest spoke to her. Her fingers, each one perfectly manicured and lacquered with red polish, hovered over the keys of her computer terminal. "And welcome to the Hotel. My name is Debbie. How may I make your day better?" It was a rehearsed turn of phrase that the girl was obliged to recite. Dean of course approved. "See, Gem-Gem, here's a girl who knows her place." Dean produced the reservation sheet from the inside left pocket of his suit jacket and handed it over. Debbie's hands fluttered expertly over the keys as she confirmed the reservations. "A deluxe suite for you, Mr Prentice, and a single room for Miss Layton." "That's right. Gem-Gem only needs a basic room. She'll be working most of the weekend. No time for luxuries. Isn't that right, Gem-Gem?" Gemma sighed and nodded in answer to Mr Prentice's question. "Everything's in order, Sir. Here are your pass cards." Debbie produced a pair of plain white bar code Ids, monogrammed simply with the hotel logo. "These are required to open doors and access the facilities of the hotel. You're in suite 515, Mr Prentice, and Miss Layton is in room 209." "Be a good girl, Gem-Gem, and get me a copy of the Times and this month's GQ magazine from the news stand." Dean waved the passkeys in the direction of the shopping mall area that stretched out beyond the confines of the lobby. "And buy yourself two short skirts for the weekend. Chop-chop." Dean was in an overwhelmingly good mood as he sat in a comfortable armchair in the lounge, sipping his glass of Shiraz and gazing with appreciation at the abundance of stunningly beautiful women who frequented the hotel. He wore a light linen suit with a charcoal grey silk shirt underneath, top two buttons undone for added sex appeal to the ladies. With a connoisseur's eye for the female form, Dean was beginning to consider the possibilities for the weekend. Business matters may have brought him to the hotel, but the prospect of hedonistic pleasure was beginning to beckon too. In addition to the beautiful and well heeled wives of important guests, the hotel staff were on the whole incredibly attractive; even more so when Dean considered the cut and design of their staff uniforms. Short skirts and tight white blouses seemed to be the order of the day, along with the occasional flash of a tantalising stocking top. With his hands out of sight beneath the table, Dean silently slid his wedding ring from his left hand and pocketed it. The weekend was after all still young and Dean felt confident that he would be able to lure one of the impressionable young things into his king size bed. And why not? After all he was young, handsome, well dressed and wealthy - an irresistible combination guaranteed to attract girls like bees to honey. "Mr Prentice..." "Gem-Gem." Dean regarded his secretary as she appeared beside his sofa chair. Gemma Layton was a beautiful, if somewhat conventionally minded woman. With her long blonde hair and slender body she was an extremely desirable girl, but Dean knew perfectly well that her looks were accompanied by an old fashioned morality that ruled out casual sex and experimenting with anything more kinky than wearing soft pink fur covered toy handcuffs while being fucked in the missionary position with her eyes closed. Gemma was exactly the sort of woman you could take home to meet your mother and be sure they would end up swapping baking tips and talking about the wonderful day when there would be the patter of little tiny feet in the nursery. If there was any justice in the world, that sort of 1950s behaviour should be confined to a mousey and bland librarian girl with spectacles, but by some incredible fluke of nature Gemma's unadventurous mind had grown up inside a body that could easily illustrate the pages of FHM magazine. Such a waste. "I've just received a call from our office that Mr Grimm of Amalgamated Amalgamations will be arriving any time now. He has suggested an initial meeting this evening, followed by more in depth talks tomorrow." Gemma held her personal organiser folder close to her chest, giving Dean the opportunity to stare at her breasts without appearing to be a letch. One of these days he would perhaps make a pass at her, though he suspected she might be one of those crazy girls who believed in virginity before marriage. "Sounds tres chic to me, Gemmie." Dean regarded the knee length skirt that Gemma had changed into in her room. It was stylish, but perhaps a little longer than he had in mind. "That skirt." He pointed at it. "Yes Mr Prentice?" Gemma glanced down at it and smoothed the fabric with her hands. It was navy blue, neat and very formal. It also hid much of her legs, which was a real shame. "Do you like it?" "Don't you have anything a little less frumpy?" "Frumpy?" "Yeah, frumpy. Is it too much to expect a glimpse of thigh from you sometimes, Gemma?" Gemma blushed and glanced away. She hated the way Mr Prentice would go on and on about her choice of office wear. "I don't like wearing short skirts, Mr Prentice. I prefer knee length ones." "And I prefer skirts that ride a little higher up the thigh. And you know what's really important here?" "What is that, Mr Prentice?" She knew what he was going to say now. "What's important is that I'm the boss and you're not." He rolled his eyes in a theatrical fashion. "So run upstairs again, chop-chop, and slip into something a little more practical before Mr Grimm turns up." Gemma was about to say something in protest but Dean silenced her with a wave of his hand. "Meanwhile I'm going to browse the hotel shops. I'm getting bored sitting around waiting. Page me as soon as this guy turns up." (Two) Considering it was just a hotel, the ground floor boasted an impressive array of shops in its private mall space. Shopping, Dean reflected, was not just a way of buying things that he didn't really need, but it was also an opportunity to display just how wealthy he was to girls who appreciated that kind of man. And so Dean found himself in a gift shop, browsing a wide selection of designer things that people bought just for the sake of buying. Dean selected a Gucci travel bag, Rolex watch and a new Ipod and headed towards the nearest available counter. As he got there a huge man, practically bulging out of a tailored pin-striped suit slipped ahead of him. The man's arms were long and each one ended in a wide hand that could probably crush a melon. "Hey there, Mr Monkey Man." Dean stepped neatly in front of the newcomer. "No pushing in. I was here first." The man turned his gaze on Dean, visibly annoyed at the monkey comment. "You're wrong on that account. I was already being served, but I had to step outside to pick up my hotel swipe card. I dropped it on the way in to this store. I was only gone for twenty seconds. The girl was about to ring up my purchases." He glanced at the shop girl behind the counter who nodded in his direction. "Sorry, mate, but that's not my problem. There was an empty counter and I walked up to it. If you left the store, then that's your look out. You join the queue when you return, you don't barge past me." Dean pointed to the space behind where he stood. "I was already part way through my purchase. I only went to pick up my swipe card so the purchase could be charged to my room," explained the man with as much politeness as he could muster. "Yeah, well, I'm here now." Dean turned his attention back to the dark haired girl. "Charge the watch and sundries to my room, love. Never mind the ape." "You, Sir, have a distinct lack of manners." The man glared daggers at Dean. "And you must have a real problem finding sleeves long enough for those gorilla arms of yours," said Dean, thoroughly enjoying himself. "I'm surprised there's anything here that will fit you." A rather stern looking woman suddenly interrupted the proceedings. In a clipped and efficient Russian accent she addressed her employer: "Phone call from Berlin, Sir. Much commotion and excitement as expected. Deal has gone through without problem, Mr Grimm." She paused to stare suspiciously at Dean who, in turn offered a cheeky smile, at least until the penny suddenly clicked. Did she say Mr Grimm? Dean did a double take. This man was Mr Grimm? This man was the person he wanted to talk into buying shares in his company and thereby save his business from ruin? Suddenly the ground seemed to open up and swallow him whole. If it was true, Dean was supposed to be walking into a business meeting with him later tonight. "What?" Mr Grimm could see that Dean had suddenly gone quiet and was staring at him with an expression that resembled an open mouth guppy fish hoping to catch plankton. "I..." "Yes?" Mr Grimm had taken an extreme dislike to this trendy and arrogant man. He had met his sort before, often in the sales or marketing department of some company that Amalgamated Amalgamations chose to take over. He always made it his first job as new Managing Director to fire people like Dean. "I think you had better go before me after all..." But of course it was too late for that. Much too late. Dean left the shop with a horrible sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. (Three) "This is a disaster, Gemma. My life is in ruins. We may as well go back home and prepare for bankruptcy." Dean sat in the lounge, his head dipped between his hands as he considered the depths to which his fortunes had just sunk. "Do you know where I can get a gun? I may need to shoot myself." "What on earth is the matter, Mr Prentice?" Gemma had never seen her boss like this before. "We haven't even met Mr Grimm yet." "Well I have. And I think I said some very unflattering things to his face. Very unflattering." "Oh, Mr Prentice!" Gemma's hand went to her mouth. "Why would you do a thing like that? We need his investment. You know that. That's why we're here. Prentice Industries is ruined without his money." "I didn't know it was him." Dean groaned and sat down as Gemma poured him a fresh cup of coffee from the jug. "He got in my way, I told him to queue behind me and, well, we exchanged some words..." "Bad ones?" "Very bad, Gem-Gem. There's no point in meeting with him now. As soon as he sees my face he'll know I'm the head of the company and it'll all be over." "Wait." Gemma looked up. "Do you mean he doesn't actually know who you are, Sir?" "Well, no, no he doesn't. But that doesn't matter. He'll recognise me in the meeting." "You don't understand, Sir. So he doesn't know you're Dean Prentice?" "That's right. What's your point, Gemma?" "He doesn't know that you have any connection with the company he's considering investing in?" "Gemma... if you have some clever idea then let's just hear it. Otherwise I'm going to need a very heavy weight to hold when I jump into the deep end of the swimming pool here." "Well, it strikes me, Mr Prentice, that he'll only walk out of the meeting if he recognises you." "Yes, but then he will recognise me, won't he? I'm sure his memory for faces is up to the job." "Not if you look significantly different. He's expecting Prentice and Layton, yes?" "Yes." "And he hasn't spoken to you before on the phone?" "No, he hasn't." "Well there you are then." Gemma looked very pleased with herself. "I've just saved the business." "Can you be any less clear?" sighed Dean as he began to consider how heavy a weight he was going to need. "It's simple, Sir. The agenda for the meeting unfortunately had a mistake in it that saves us. What we meant to send him was a correct agenda that informs him he'll be meeting with Chief Executive Miss Gemma Layton, and Deanna Prentice." Dean looked very taken aback. "That's a ridiculous idea, Gemma. No one's going to believe you're a Chief Executive. I'm obviously the Chief Executive." "No Sir, of course you're not. We don't want Mr Grimm focussing all his attention on you. I'll pose as the Chief Executive. You'll still be in the meeting of course to steer me in the right direction with pre- arranged signs, but he'll think he's dealing with me." "But he's still going to recognise me. When he does he'll simply walk out of the door." "He won't recognise you, Sir, because you'll be the other person on the agenda: Deanna Prentice, my secretary." "Wait a minute. What do you mean, Deanna... That's a girl's name." "Yes, Sir. It's a brilliant idea, isn't it?" Gemma gave him a warm smile. "Maybe I'm a bit slow right now, on account of the fact my life is suddenly ruined, but are you suggesting I should dress up like you?" "It's the perfect disguise, Sir. If you look like a woman there's no chance he'll recognise you as the man who insulted him this morning. You have to be in the meeting, Sir, but you'll need to look radically different. So... a woman." "It's crazy. I won't do it. I won't!" Dean waved his hands in a dismissive manner. Gemma sighed. "Then the banks will foreclose on the loans and you'll lose your company, Sir, and all your money. Perhaps in time you'll be able to get a junior clerk's job in an office somewhere. It won't be the same of course..." Dean frowned and considered his options. There was really only one choice he could make. "But no skirt, Gemma." "Of course not, Sir," said Gemma with a wry smile and a knowing tap of her HB pencil. (Four) Dean couldn't go any further. His feet ground to a halt and he turned away just as he was about to place his hand on the door. "I can't do this. I just can't." The impulse to bolt for safety was overwhelming. "What do you mean?" Gemma was beside him in an instant. "It's just some hair extensions, Mr Prentice. It's not like you're going for an operation. What on earth is the problem?" "There's a girl in there." Dean nodded in the direction of the store front window, through which the stylist could be clearly seen waiting for her next appointment to arrive. Across the window, in transparent lettering, was the name of the shop: The Primp and Get Nailed Salon. Dean could see that vibrant shades of pink seemed to be the order of the day when it came to interior design within the salon. "Of course there's a girl in there. She's the stylist. She works there." Gemma placed her hand reassuringly on Dean's arm. "You just have to go in there and..." "I can't. I can't say it. Not to her. I can't ask for hair extensions." Dean's face was now a bright shade of red. Gemma was trying hard not to laugh. "Would you like me to speak to her, Mr Prentice? Would you like me to make the arrangements?" Her voice was soft and reassuring. Dean nodded like a young child who desperately wanted his mother to stand in for him. "Come on then." The door chimed as they walked in. The salon was small, but very clean and brightly lit. Most of the room was taken up by two wash basins and chairs, but there was also a two seater sofa next to a coffee machine and one corner of the salon was reserved for a nail counter. The stylist smiled at her clients as she rose from the sofa and moved to greet them both. "Hello, I'm Kimberley." Her eyes automatically glanced towards Gemma. "Miss Prentice, yes? For Three o'clock?" "Mr Prentice, actually," replied Gemma with a smile as she indicated Dean, still a distinct shade of beetroot red. "Oh." Kimberley looked surprised, but not too surprised. "But you're down for hair extensions?" Gemma could feel Dean twitch and, before he could bolt for the door, she gripped him firmly by the elbow. It was enough to restrain him from fleeing at top speed, if only for the moment. "Perhaps I'd better explain things quietly over a cup of coffee." Gemma gently steered Dean towards the sofa where he sat down with an air of frightened resignation, as his secretary then conferred quietly with the stylist. Her explanation and instructions lasted for several minutes, punctuated by several smiling glances in Dean's direction, mostly to ensure he wasn't moving from the spot or considering running away. The way Dean was feeling now he desperately wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole. He was very conscious of the glass front to the salon, and how it faced the main lobby on the ground floor of the hotel. Guests and staff walked past from time to time and in his imagination he could see them all looking in. None of them knew him of course, but that wasn't really the point. "There, Mr Prentice," Gemma sat down next to him and took his hands in hers while she spoke to him as if he was a young boy scared to face his first day at school. "I've done all the talking for you. You don't have to say anything if you don't want to. Kimberley will add the extensions and once she's finished you can go back to your hotel room. Actually..." she considered things for a moment. "Go to my hotel room instead. It's probably not a good idea for you to be seen staying in Dean Prentice's room from now on. We'll swap rooms and I'll move in to yours." "What about my things?" "Silly." Gemma patted his hands. "I'll bring everything over when I'm back, won't I?" "Back?" Dean looked up in alarm. "Back from where? You're not going to leave me here? Not alone?" "I have to get some things for you, don't I? I checked on the Internet and there's a speciality shop close by that I can get to before it closes. It sells foundation garments for cross dressers." "What?" Dean's eyes resembled those of a frightened rabbit caught in a car's headlamps. "Foundation garments. To give you a woman's shape. You don't want to look like a man in drag, do you, Mr Prentice?" "Well, no, but..." "Because if you'd prefer to look like a man in drag..." "No!" Dean glanced around and began whispering. "And please keep your voice down." He was conscious that Kimberley seemed to be busy sorting out her equipment, but it was a small salon, and the way Gemma was talking, surely anyone in the room could hear her. Dean glanced at the girl. Perhaps it was his imagination but she seemed to be smiling a bit too much. "Then foundation garments are necessary." Gemma patted his hands again. "I'll only be gone for a couple of hours. You'll be fine. Lots of men have long hair. No one will think anything of it when you walk through the lobby. You'll be like a rock star." "I suppose so..." But deep down Dean took reassurance from Gemma being with him. He really didn't like the idea of sitting in the salon without her. "Please come back as quickly as you can, Gem-Gem." "Of course I will." She got up to go, but before she reached the door, Dean rushed over to her. "Gemma, what... what did you say to the stylist? About me, I mean. About the hair extensions?" "Oh, Mr Prentice, we really haven't got time for this right now. I've got to get going, otherwise I won't get to the store in time. It closes at four on Saturdays." She gave him a determined look and pushed him gently back into the salon room. "Now behave yourself while I'm gone." With a girly wiggle of her fingers she left Dean to Kimberley's care. Minutes later Dean was seated in the plastic swivel chair with a pink nylon sheet over his body. Kimberley was washing his hair in some scented shampoo. Close by were long bundles of human hair - the very best. "Just relax," she said as she began to towel his damp hair. "I can see from the way your shoulders are hunched that you're feeling very tense." Dur... of course I'm feeling tense, thought Dean to himself. "I'm not... I'm not used to this." He couldn't help but glance out through the window. It didn't seem that anyone was paying him any attention, but even so... "Well, we'll have you looking pretty in no time." Kimberley picked up the first length of hair and began to attach it to Dean's own. It was longer than he expected - thirty inches in length - and he couldn't help noticing it was a different shade to his own hair. "The colour doesn't match," he blurted out. "It doesn't have to. Once you have the extensions in place I'll colour your hair so it's the same colour throughout. Don't worry. Gemma explained everything you need earlier on." Dean tried to relax while the lengths of hair were added. His head was feeling heavier now as his new glossy mane grew in stages. Like many modern men he was unfamiliar with the way long hair felt and he wasn't sure he liked it. "There, now I'm just going to apply the colour lotion and then you can sit back for ten minutes and read a magazine." Kimberley set to work with a cold, funny smelling liquid. It had a chemical like smell and required a plastic cap that Kimberley smoothed down over the crown of his head. "Marie Claire or Cosmo?" she asked with a smile. "I really don't..." "Try Marie Claire. You look like a Marie Claire girl." She thrust the glossy magazine into Dean's hands before he could protest. His scalp felt cold from the lotion as he sat there staring glumly at the fashion pages in the centre of the magazine. This was such a stupid idea. What was he thinking to have agreed to this? He had half a mind when all this was over to simply pack his bags and leave. But if he did, his business, the business his father and mother had built up over fifty years, would be ruined. He had to acquire the emergency funding. His train of thoughts were interrupted when Kimberley removed the plastic cap and allowed his damp hair to tumble free. What Dean saw sent a shiver through his body. His once light brown hair was now bleached peroxide blonde. Girly peroxide blonde. For a moment he was speechless, and then he couldn't stop babbling. "My hair... it's... it's... what have you done to me...?" "Gemma told me you wanted to go blonde." Kimberley was a little taken aback by the look of shock on Dean's face. "That's what you paid for." Dean ran his hands through the heavy, damp locks of hair that were now part of his own scalp. Blonde - platinum blonde. The hair felt very heavy as it ran through his fingers. "I'll need to shape it." Kimberley brushed Dean's hands away as she reached for a pair of scissors and a comb. "If you don't mind, Sir." Dean was livid. Blonde! Peroxide, platinum blonde! What did that bitch, Gemma, think she was playing at? She was in a lot of trouble now. Oh yes, she was. When all this was over he was going to take considerable satisfaction in firing her stupid ass. And with the reference he'd be supplying to any prospective employer, it would be a cold day in Hell before she ever held any job that didn't involve cleaning floors or flipping burgers. She'd be out on her ear with the minimum of notice. Actually, no notice. This was surely grounds for instant dismissal for serious misconduct. Dean was so deep in thought as to what he'd do to Gemma, that Kimberley had almost finished by the time he realised what she was doing with her scissors and comb. She had cut a neat girl's fringe in a set of bangs that fell to just a centimetre above his eyebrows. The hairstyle that stared back at him in the mirror was unmistakeably a girl's hairstyle. No man would ever wear a cut like that, let alone have hair colour like that. Dean's fingers gripped the armrests in disbelief as Kimberley set to work with a hair drier. Before long his new glossy and overtly feminine hair was finished. "You look lovely," she said as she replaced the bow drier. "When you're ready, I'll start on your nails." "My nails?" Dean span round in the chair. "What about my nails?" "Gemma paid for a manicure and a coat of polish. To be honest, your nails do need it." "Polish? I don't want..." "It's clear nail varnish," explained Kimberley with a sigh. "No one's going to notice it." Dean wasn't quite so sure, but he let Kimberley lead him over to the table where she set to work filing his nails down. As he watched, she glanced up and said, "Look, there's only so much I can do with your nails. They're not in a very good state. You bite them, don't you?" "Well..." "I can tell you do. What I'm going to recommend is acrylic false nails..." (Five) "Mr Prentice!" Gemma stared with barely concealed amusement at Dean as he visibly cringed. They were in the small room that had originally been booked for Gemma. Dean's hair looked lovely, though it was unmistakeably a young girl's hairstyle. Platinum blonde with bangs, and if she wasn't mistaken, Kimberley had also thinned his eyebrows. The effect was remarkable. Of course Dean didn't look too happy about it. He was also doing his best to conceal his hands behind his back. Curious now, Gemma motioned with her fingers. "Hands, please, Mr Prentice. Now, if you don't mind." Reluctantly Dean showed her the perfect set of French polished effect false nails that were permanently glued to his own. Obviously the session with the stylist had proven far more productive than she had originally envisaged. And to complete the effect, Dean's ears were pierced. Pretty hoop earrings dangled enticingly from each lobe. They jingled softly each time he moved his head. "Look what that bitch did to me," cried Dean. "I can't go out like this! It was a nightmare just getting back to this room. Everyone I passed in the corridors stopped and stared at me." "That's because you have the body of a man and the hair and nails of a woman, Mr Prentice. But now we're going to fix all of that." Gemma emptied the contents of her two carrier bags onto the small single bed. "You'll need to undress." He did so in silent protest, one eye on the menagerie of foundation garments and lingerie that Gemma had procured from The Transformation Shop on Westbury Avenue. Everything looked pink and pearl white and frilly and soft and satin like. Well, almost everything. There was also a fierce looking corset and some sort of supple plastic sheath with clip fastenings at either end. Gemma prepared the corset as Dean stripped himself down to his boxer shorts. She walked behind him and clipped the corset around his waist, gathering the thongs in her right hand. "Breathe in, Mr Prentice." She gave the thongs a tight pull as she braced herself and pushed against Dean. There was a reassuring squeal of protest, followed by deep gasps as she tugged again and again and again. "Please!" He cried. "That's too tight!" Dean staggered back to relieve the pressure, but Gemma was having none of it. "Not yet, Mr Prentice, Sir. Just an inch more." She tugged again and brought his waist down to a respectable 26 inches. Then, with supple dexterity, she quickly tied and secured the thongs, holding Mr Prentice in place. "Fucking hell! I can't breathe!" "Yes you can, just take short girlish breaths. You'll get used to it, Mr Prentice." She patted his bottom reassuringly as he crouched, doubled over, breathing quickly and desperately. "Now, these will have to come off too, Mr Prentice." She tugged playfully at his boxer shorts. "We have to fit your restraint." "My what?" By way of answer Gemma showed Dean the supple plastic sheath with the clip fastenings that matched similar clips above the crotch and rear ends of the corset. "It's quite simple, Mr Prentice. You slide your penis into this sheath and then it's drawn back between your legs and secured to either end of the corset, giving you a lovely smooth panty line." "What?!" Dean stared at the sheath in horror. "I'm not wearing that!" "Oh." Gemma looked surprised as she shrugged and put the sheath away. "I'm sorry, Sir. I thought you'd prefer to wear trousers instead of a skirt. Still, if you'd prefer a skirt..." She turned to the wardrobe where several secretarial pencil skirts were hanging. "Wait a minute. What do you mean by that? Of course I want to wear trousers." Dean looked alarmed at the thought of wearing a skirt and the inevitable matching stockings. "Well, trousers can't be seen to have a bulge, Mr Prentice. Women's pants are cut quite snugly at the crotch, so your package, so to speak, needs to be pulled tightly between your legs, out of the way. You need a smooth panty line. Of course if you prefer to wear a skirt then you don't have to worry about that..." "I don't want to wear a skirt! This damnable corset is bad enough." Gemma smiled. "Then you'll need the sheath restraint. Boxer shorts please..." Her voice and manner was super efficient as always. Before Dean could protest further, she whipped his underwear down and revealed a semi-erect penis. It wasn't a very impressive sight - decidedly below average in Gemma's experience, but she was polite enough not to comment. "Oh, Mr Prentice. You look a little bit excited." Dean blushed again. "I'm taking my clothes off in front of you. I can't help it." Gemma gave his half mast member a playful stroke and watched it jerk stiffer still. Despite the increased rigidity it didn't seem to grow a great deal bigger in girth or length. "Well, what are we going to do about this? It needs to be limp before I can fit the restraining sheath." "I really don't like the sound of that. Isn't there some other way?" "It's this or a skirt. Your choice, Mr Prentice." She deliberately selected the shortest, tightest secretarial skirt from the wardrobe and showed it to her boss. "Sheath," he moaned softly. "What was that, Sir?" Gemma pretended not to have heard. "Restraint sheath," he added by way of confirmation. "You want me to fit you with a restraint sheath to hide your penis, Sir?" Now she acted as if she wasn't sure she understood. "Yes." Dean squirmed horribly. The corset was still extremely uncomfortable. Even talking was leaving him out of breath. "Well then. You'll need to do something about that." She pointed at his now mostly erect member. It was difficult to be sure without using a ruler, but Gemma estimated somewhere between four and four and a half inches in length. "Like what? It doesn't go down of its own accord." "Well then, make it." "You can't be serious?" Dean stared at her in embarrassment. "Well, you can't expect me to help you, Sir. It's really not in my job description." Gemma crossed her arms and tapped her foot impatiently. "Sooner rather than later, Mr Prentice. You do want me to go down to the shop in the hotel lobby and buy you a pants suit to wear tomorrow, yes? It's just that it closes at six tonight." "Yes," said Dean miserably as he sat back down on the edge of the bed and cupped his penis and balls in his right hand. "Do you have to watch?" "I can look away, Sir." Gemma turned her attention to the wall. It was a very small bedroom, she thought to herself. Dean's suite of rooms upstairs was much nicer. Especially with the grand balcony overlooking the grounds below, and the enormous bathroom with a bath big enough for three people to lie down in comfort, which now that she thought about it, spoke volumes about the kind of businessmen who paid for it. It was quite a relief that the suite belonged to her now. She listened silently to the furious rubbing and stroking and the little moans and sighs coming from Dean as he masturbated himself towards climax. A minute or two later there was a sharp gasp, followed by another gasp and then a breathless and timid sigh. It all sounded a bit pathetic really. "Finished?" she asked, without looking. "Yes," came the rather subdued response. Gemma turned round and saw long beads of semen on the carpet between Dean's legs. A few drops continued to drip from his now flaccid penis. With the evidence literally under his feet, Dean felt extremely humiliated, and couldn't meet Gemma's gaze. "Mr Prentice! You have made quite a mess, haven't you?" Gemma fetched a face flannel from the sink, wet it, and passed it to Dean. "Clean yourself up." She stood there, arms folded again as he wiped his crotch and mopped the carpet. "Stand up. Hands clasped together at the back of your neck." That last bit wasn't strictly necessary, but Gemma recognised that Dean was temporarily too abashed to protest at anything, and she rather liked the look of her boss in such a submissive position. She took hold of his limp penis and slid it into the sheath. The thongs were pulled tight, drawing his manhood back, trapping it between his legs. He would still be able to pee, but only when sitting down like a girl. The thongs were neatly tied and then the clasps were clipped in place against the corresponding catches at the bottom of the corset, securing crotch piece to foundation garment. Both clasps clicked shut with sharp locking sounds. The sheath had come with a single key, which she had already pocketed on the sly. "There, all tucked away out of sight. You look a lot neater already." "I can't feel my cock!" Dean stroked the plastic sheath. Although the plastic seemed thin, it totally desensitised what lay strapped in place. It was scary how smooth he now seemed between his legs. The catch at the back had a small flap which settled over the ends of the corset thongs, making them inaccessible until the crotch piece was removed. Effectively the corset was now secured and impossible to remove short of cutting it off. That would prove more difficult than it seemed as the corset was reinforced with flexible bands of poly- carbonate to produce the rigidity. "Well of course you can't, Mr Prentice. That is the point after all." Gemma placed her hands on Dean's hips and turned him round. His bottom was still accessible - a supple sheath band rested against the crack of his ass, but this could easily be pushed aside by her fingers. Dean squealed again as he felt her do this. "What are you doing?" "Just making sure your toilet facilities aren't impeded, Sir. But I need to be sure." She pushed Dean forward and kicked his feet wider apart. He was forced to lean with his hands pressed down on the edge of the bed to support his weight while Gemma removed a rubber dildo from the second carrier bag. It was the medium size 'Penetrator' and promised 'supple pleasure for the moderately experienced male'. She lubricated the end of it with a tube of jelly, and smoothed the blackberry size drop of lube over the tip of the Penetrator until it was nice and slippery. It was much bigger than the thing that she had seen sticking up from between Dean's legs. Now Dean tried to push himself up, but it was a simple matter for Gemma to press down on his back with her left hand and hold him there. "Please don't fidget, Mr Prentice. I really need to check that your anal passage isn't obstructed by the rear strap of the cock restraint." "Gemma!" But Gemma paid him no attention. She simply touched Dean's anal hole with the cold lubricated tip of the dildo and pushed hard. There was a howl of protest as Dean bucked suddenly against the bed, but with his legs spread wide and leaning forward, off balance, he wasn't able to prevent Gemma from pushing the dildo deep inside his ass. "Gemma! For God's sake, woman!" "The good news, Sir, is your anal passage is unobstructed by the sheath belt." "I know! I bloody know!" Tears ran down his face. "Take it out!" "A lot of men like this sort of thing, Sir." Gemma pulled the penetrator back out, which elicited another yelp of astonishment from Dean. "I took the liberty of purchasing a butt plug attachment that clips onto the rear strap of the restraint. Apparently it helps you walk more like a sissy, and less like a man." She rummaged in the carrier bag again and pulled it out. It was bright pink with a loop attachment at one end that hooked onto the belt. "Gemma, don't you dare!" He felt the tip of the butt plug press against his asshole. "But your walk will give you away, Mr Prentice. Even though you'll be dressed like a secretary, you'll still walk like a man. Just imagine if Mr Grimm, or anyone else for that matter, recognises that you're really a man. How horrible would that be?" Dean trembled at the thought. No matter how humiliating it was to disguise himself as a girl, it paled in insignificance against the possibility of a man seeing through his disguise. That he could never live down. "But if you don't mind everyone thinking that you're a sissy instead of a girl... well, it's very brave of you. People will laugh and point at you, I suppose. But if you aren't worried about that..." "I don't want anyone to know I'm really a man!" Dean tried to get up again, but Gemma refused to let him while his bottom was still unplugged. "Well they will as soon as they see you walking. It's either that or the butt plug." She let the choice hang in the air. "Please..." "Please what, Mr Prentice? What do you want?" Dean sobbed - a virtually broken man. "The butt plug." "What? Can you be clearer, Sir?" "I want the butt plug." "You want me to insert a butt plug into your bottom and secure it to the rear strap of your restraint belt? I just need to be sure what you want, Sir. I'm only doing what you want after all." "Yes. I want you to insert a butt plug into my ass." Dean couldn't believe he was actually saying that. "And you want me to secure it? We can't have it slipping out now, can we? It'll need to be attached to the belt." "Yes, yes! Just let me up!" "In a moment, Sir." Gemma didn't bother to lubricate the butt plug. Frankly she was beginning to find his childish protests very tiring, and as far as she was concerned he didn't seem to appreciate the serious effort she was making to help him out of a situation that could have ruined his company. Well, if he was going to act all spoilt and childish, he could have a rubber butt plug without any lubrication. She pushed it in hard and had to press down with her left hand as he bucked in protest again. The plug attachment was very well made and clipped neatly to the rear strap of the belt. This catch didn't lock, as the plug would have to be removed whenever Dean required the toilet. "I hate this!" Gemma slapped his bare bottom. "Ow! What the fuck did you do that for?!" "You're acting childish, Mr Prentice. And I'm getting very tired of it. Now, do you want me to help you or not?" She took her weight from his back and allowed him to get up. "Yes. Yes, I do." "Then you're going to have to moderate your behaviour. Otherwise I'll simply go back upstairs and you can do everything else yourself. Would you prefer to go to the women's boutique in the lobby yourself? Would you like to ask the helpful girl there to help you select a pants suit?" "No, please Gemma, no. I can't go down there, not like this." "Well then." She crossed her arms and tapped her foot again, as if waiting for something. "What?" Dean looked nervously at her. "I think someone owes someone else an apology, don't you, Mr Prentice?" "I'm sorry." "Good. Now what else do we have." She rummaged in the second carrier bag and produced some luxury silk stockings. "For you. The corset has suspenders for the stockings. Now, you roll the stockings up into balls and place your feet in them and then slowly and smoothly draw them up your legs. I'll help you with the suspenders this time, but you're going to have to get used to fixing them in future." "In future? How long do you think the meeting is going to go on for! I'm only going to be wearing them tonight and tomorrow." "Mr Prentice. I warned you." Gemma turned and walked towards the door. "I'm sorry! Please don't go!" "I've really had enough, Sir." "Please. I said I'm sorry. This meeting is very important. I can't do this without you." "I know you said you're sorry. But you also said that several minutes ago. It doesn't really seem to mean much from you, Sir." "Please." Gemma considered this state of affairs for a minute or two. She was almost ready to walk out, but Mr Prentice did look the very picture of desperation. Should she give him one more chance? "I really should just leave, you know." "Gemma, I'll give you a 25% rise in pay. Please." "It's not just the money." "45% and a promotion. I'll make you manager of the secretarial pool." "In writing please." Gemma handed him a sheet of paper and a pen and watched as he scribbled furiously and signed it. "Thank you." But she still looked dubious. "You're going to have to improve your behaviour from now on, otherwise I really will leave." "Anything. Anything." "Bend back down over the bed, like you were before. Weight leaning on your hands, and feet spread apart." "What?" "Last chance, Sir." Gemma watched as Dean hurried to comply. "I really hoped I wouldn't need this, Sir, but the girl in the Transformation store said it was often necessary." She produced a supple riding crop from the first bag and swished it in the air. "Gemma!" "Quiet, Mr Prentice. The girl was very helpful when I bought the corset and restraint belt for you, but she did say I would probably have to use this if you began playing up. Personally I think it's quite barbaric to have to switch a man on his bottom, so I'm not at all happy that you're making me do his." "I'm not making you do anything! Gemma!" "One more protest, Mr Prentice and I walk out through the door and you can buy your own clothes at the boutique." Dean was suddenly silent. "Good." She flexed the crop experimentally and was pleased with the way it bent. Then, with considerable reluctance, she gave Mr Prentice six heavy stokes across his exposed ass cheeks. To her surprise he howled after each one. It was obviously more painful than it looked. Once she finished (the girl had said that six strokes was a good number for a sissy's first beating), Gemma hung the crop from a coat peg on the door where Mr Prentice would be able to see it from now on. It was in plain view of the bed, and it would be the first thing he saw each morning upon waking up. The girl had suggested that too. "You'll find a sissy will be considerably more compliant and polite in future if he is reminded that the crop is there to be used when necessary." Gemma thought it was perhaps a touch mediaeval, but then the girl was the expert on such matters, not her. "You can get up now, Mr Prentice, but don't rub your bottom. "But it hurts!" "Of course it does." She sighed. Really, he did have a habit of stating the obvious. "Now, stockings if you please." Dean now complied quickly, though he winced once or twice as he sat down to roll them up his legs. Gemma was as good as her word and showed him how to straighten the old fashioned seams before clipping the stockings to the garter straps. "There should be enough panties to last you a couple of weeks without laundry, Mr Prentice." She up-ended the remaining contents of the second bag onto the bed. A mass of frilly panty lace spilled out around him. "You'll notice they've all got days written on the front. Today is Saturday, so for example you'll be wearing the one labelled 'Saturday'." Dean slid the proffered panties up his legs and shivered at the strangely erotic sensation of frilly lace being drawn up over snug stockings. The effect on his face wasn't lost to Gemma who simply frowned in disapproval. "Are you enjoying this, Mr Prentice?" she asked with some suspicion. "No! Of course not!" "You're sure?" "Yes, of course I'm sure." "Good. I have a very low opinion of men who secretly want to dress up as women." "I'm not one of them!" Dean tried not to rub his stocking-clad thighs together as he said that. To his growing horror he began to recognise that the stockings actually felt... nice. More than nice in fact. His trapped penis received a sudden rush of blood but was unable to grow in its tight confinement. The resulting effect was highly frustrating and very uncomfortable. "So, there's just one last thing missing, and then you'll have the body of a typical secretary. Can you guess what it is?" Dean shook his head. He was afraid to even guess. How much worse could it possibly get." "Ta-dah!" Gemma produced a pair of realistic and very expensive silicone breast forms. "No... please, no..." Dean actually retreated a few inches along the bed. "I'm not going to have a flat-chested secretary, Mr Prentice. It just wouldn't look right." She applied a layer of firm bonding glue to the underside of each breast form. Dean squeezed his eyes shut as Gemma stuck them to his skin one at a time. They were as heavy as real breasts, and considerably bigger than Gemma's real ones. She had wanted to purchase a more modest size for Mr Prentice, but sadly the store had sold out of anything smaller than a Double D cup in the highest price range. Mr Prentice deserved only the best of course, so she didn't insult his tastes by purchasing a small size in a cheaper range. "You may find the bra a bit fiddly to begin with." She helped him cup each of the breast forms into a lacy bra which she then secured behind his back. "But it's something you're going to have to get used to. I won't always be around when you get dressed, and believe me, you'll be very uncomfortable with breasts that size unless you wear a bra." "They're very big." "Are they?" Gemma pretended she hadn't noticed. "I suppose they are a bit bigger than mine. Still, you are a secretary now, Sir." Gemma hadn't read the leaflet that came with the glue, but if she had she would have discovered that the bonding agent was permanent. Eventually the breast forms would loosen as skin cells flaked away, but it would be several weeks before that happened. (Six) "We have a problem," explained Gemma as she returned from the lobby. "Or rather you do." "What do you mean, a problem?" Dean looked anxious. He sat on the edge of his new single bed, trying hard to regulate his breathing with the corset secured tightly around his stomach. He felt constricted and uncomfortable, and as for the thing gripping his penis and pulling it tightly between his legs... it was impossible to ignore. "The shop in the lobby has closed. I thought it was open until six, but it closes early on a Saturday." "You haven't bought me a trouser suit?" said Dean with alarm. "I can't until Monday. I'm sorry. We should have checked the opening hours when we went to the salon." "YOU should have checked the opening hours..." Dean squirmed on the edge of the bed. Damn this corset. He had to get out of it. He stood up and began to fiddle uselessly with the catch at the back where the cock restraint was firmly attached. Try as he might he couldn't make it budge. "What are you doing?" asked Gemma suspiciously. Dean gave up and began to try the catch at the front of the corset instead where the restraint was similarly secured. There too it proved impervious to his desperate fingers. With the catches still in place, he was unable to find the ends of the laces. They too were secured by the leather sheath. "Mr Prentice, please stand still and stop fiddling with your corset!" Gemma's voice was suddenly sharp and matronly. Despite himself, Dean stopped in surprise. "Now we're going to have to work around this. With the corset on you've got a very similar body shape to mine. You can wear some of my clothes." "Your clothes?" "That's what I said. Really Mr Prentice, it doesn't help if you keep repeating everything I tell you." Seeing his hands stray towards the security catches on the cock restraint, she slapped at his hand and elicited a yelp of surprise from her employer. "I said stop playing with your corset! Am I going to have to spank you?" "What?" Dean took a step back in surprise. "Don't be ridiculous." What had got into Gemma? If he hadn't decided to fire her before over the incident with the hair style, he certainly would now. In fact it was just a shame that he could only fire her the once. "If you fiddle with the lock on the cock restraint..." "Lock! What lock?" Dean's hands flew back to the catch at the front. No wonder he couldn't open it - there was a tiny lock there now that he checked it in the mirror. "Yes, lock. That's the way these things are made. Really, don't you know anything, Mr Prentice?" "About the design of cock restraints? No, actually I don't!" He began to pace the room in absolute frustration. "Where's the key?" "In your... I mean, in my room." Gemma stood there with her hands on her hips and a frown on her lips. "Now, as I tried to say before you rudely interrupted me, Mr Prentice, if you fiddle with the locks, you might break them. And then the key won't work. Is that what you want? Is it?" She gave him a hard stare until he moved his hands apart. "Good." "I don't want to wear this any more..." "Oh, do stop complaining. It's just a corset." "And a cock restraint! It hurts when I begin to get an erection..." Dean shut his mouth as quickly as he said that, but too late. Gemma had heard him. "Erection?" She studied his face closely. "Why on earth would you have an erection? How can you possibly have an erection?" "I don't. I'm not..." "Well obviously you don't have an erection - the restraint makes that impossible." She tapped it with her fingers. "But are you saying you would have one if it wasn't securely in place? Are you struggling with one now?" "No..." Dean blushed bright red and couldn't meet her eyes. "Is something about this turning you on, Mr Prentice? Are you feeling aroused by wearing a corset and silk stockings?" "No!" Gemma gazed down at the smooth space between Dean's legs and lowered the pink panties a few inches with her right hand. The leather sheath gleamed softly in the hotel room light. If anything there was twitching, the sheath made it impossible to tell. "Then why on earth are you saying it hurts?" "It..." Dean chose his next words carefully. "Doesn't. Doesn't hurt." "Because being dressed in a corset and stockings doesn't turn you on?" Dean shook his head and bit his lip. "So, just so there's no room for doubt or misunderstanding. The sheath is quite comfortable, because you've been limp since I put you in the corset and..." she smiled, "the stockings and panties..." Dean's expression look strained, almost as if being reminded of what he wore was adding to his discomfort. He nodded again and said, in a timid voice, "Yes, Gemma. That's right." "So we don't have a problem then?" Gemma smiled. "No we don't." "Good. Now then - your clothes. It's going to have to be a skirt and blouse I'm afraid." "What? Don't you have any trousers?" Dean looked scared. "Only one pair and I'm going to have to wear them if I'm supposed to be the senior executive. No one's going to take me seriously if I wear a secretarial skirt and blouse to the meeting, will they? I mean, think about it, I can't be in a skirt if my secretary is wearing a pants suit." Gemma opened the wardrobe and removed one of the short pencil skirts Dean had insisted she buy, and a white silky blouse with buttons that ceased where the curve of a woman's breasts would be. "I think these shoes will match." She found a pair of black three inch heels with a small silver buckle on the side. "I can't wear a skirt." "Of course you can. You just step into it and pull it up your legs. Thousands of secretaries wear them. You'll be fine." Gemma thrust the skirt into Dean's hands. "Unless you're thinking of turning up to the meeting in just your underwear?" "No. Of course not." "Then skirt it is. Blouse first though." She watched as Dean thrust his arms through the sleeves and fumbled with the tiny buttons. The garment was designed to enhance a girl's cleavage, and buttoned tightly around the bust as it was, his breast shapes inside his bra were thrust out to great effect. "Mr Prentice!" Gemma clapped her hands in delight as she saw how busty he looked. "You'd be the envy of all the girls in the typing pool." Now she reached for the matching skirt. Dean stared in dismay at the brevity and tightness of the short skirt that Gemma held out for him. "I can't wear that!" "Why not, Sir?" "It's so short... look at it! It'll barely cover my stocking tops!" "Well, Sir, it's supposed to be like that. It's a short skirt you see, suitable for secretaries. You said so yourself when you told me to buy it. The way you conduct yourself reflects both on the company and my presentation." "Can't I wear one of your other skirts..." Dean gazed at the skirts in Gemma's wardrobe that hung just above or just below the knee. "One of the more modest ones..." "Certainly not. I'm not having you wear my best clothes, Mr Prentice. Whatever next! You might stretch or snag the material." "But Gemma..." "No, no... out of the question." Gemma crossed her arms, which of course meant her mind was made up, and no amount of complaining would change things. "Besides which, you yourself said that Mr Grimm expects a secretary to dress accordingly. Well, now you're the secretary as far as he's concerned. Now stop pouting and put the skirt on. Really, this is a lot of fuss over nothing." Gemma slapped Dean's stocking-clad thigh to hurry him up. Dean blushed bright red again as he now stepped into the skirt and drew it up his legs. It was the shortest skirt Gemma had, but she was in no mood to tell Dean that there were longer ones to choose from. Perhaps if he hadn't complained so much she might have taken pity on him, but frankly his behaviour was going to be rewarded with a skirt length that reached half way down his thighs. "Try the shoes on, Mr Prentice." Gemma watched as Dean sat back down on the edge of the bed and struggled with the heels. His long blonde hair swung around his face as he slipped first one foot and then the other into the glossy black shoes. But Gemma had to admit she was impressed. With the hairstyle and the foundation garment and the false nails and the secretarial outfit, Mr Prentice made for a very convincing woman. The look would be made perfect once she added some make up. "So... make up, and then we need to find Mr Grimm." (Seven) "Mr Prentice... you can't just sit there doing nothing. People will get suspicious," hissed Gemma into his ear as they sat in deep armchairs outside Mr Grimm's suite of rooms. "What do you mean?" Dean sat with his hands in his lap, feeling very self conscious. His face was now heavily made up with foundation, blusher, lipstick, false eyelashes and mascara to the point where he was unrecognisable as anything other than the most slutty looking secretary it was possible to be. "You're pretending to be a secretary, remember? You need to act like one. Don't just sit there like a statue. You should be checking your make up in your compact. There's lipstick to be touched up regularly, and I don't think you've even checked the seams of your stockings since we left your hotel room, have you?" "Gemma..." "Really, Mr Prentice, anyone would think you want to be discovered as a man dressed up as a woman. Now, look inside your handbag and you'll find a mirror and some lipstick." Dean fumbled around inside the bag, a task made more difficult by the length of his new false nails. The mirror was compact and clicked open when he slid the catch. As Gemma watched, he checked his reflection and winced at how pretty he now looked. Worse than pretty - sexy even, with the heavy make up and the pouring effect of the lipstick. "You can never check and freshen your make up too often, Mr Prentice," said Gemma as she encouraged him to powder his nose. "Now check your stocking seams. I'm not having you walk into the meeting looking less than perfect." Dean ran his fingers down the length of his seams, feeling by touch for any imperfections. They seemed straight. He looked up at Gemma for confirmation. "Neat enough." She nodded and passed him a glossy woman's magazine. The pages flopped open to a photo spread of strappy heeled shoes for summer. "Now cross your legs at the knee and sit up straight, breasts forward." "Gemma!" "And no more Gemma - it's Miss Layton from now on. Remember, you're my secretary." Mr Grimm checked his watch inside the suite and frowned. He was a punctual man, was Mr Grimm, and he never tolerated lax time keeping from staff, clients or, in this case, supplicants. The Prentice group wanted his investment, so that meant they had to jump through his hoops whenever and wherever he required. Since checking in he had hired a suite of rooms for his own personal use and a conference room for the meetings with... and now he had to check the details on the fax that arrived this morning... Deanna Prentice and Gemma Bryden. Women. His upper lip curled slightly in an automatic reflex, not to women as such, because obviously Mr Grimm enjoyed the company of women a great deal, but to the thought of women in a position of executive authority. He was an old fashioned man, was Mr Grimm. The woman's place was in the home, cooking meals, cleaning floors and sucking cocks. Especially sucking cocks. Occasionally he made an exception, for example his Russian personal assistant, Elizabeta, who demonstrated impressive drive and commitment. He could hear her now in the outer room, greeting the arrivals. "My name is Elizabeta, personal assistant to Mr Grimm." It was the Russian woman who had appeared in the shop earlier in the afternoon with new from the Berlin office. She spoke in a sharp no-nonsense East European voice, with the gravity of a woman used to giving orders on behalf of her employer. "Names please." "I'm Gemma Layton, chief executive of Prentice Industries," said Gemma with a smile. "And this is my secretary, Deanna Prentice." She indicated a nervous Dean Prentice who sat there literally shaking with terror. "She seem cold. Hotel heating not sufficient?" Elizabeta regarded Dean carefully and sniffed with disapproval. Platinum blonde hair, pink lipstick, short skirt, high heels and French polished nails - all signs of soft Western women. Elizabeta on the other hand stood six feet three inches tall in stockinged feet, and wore a plain black linen trouser suit. Her long black hair was worn in a braid wound and coiled tight at the back of her head. She was an attractive woman, but hard looking. For exercise she would train in the mornings before breakfast with a ten mile run followed by a strenuous work out with a pair of 36 kg Russian kettle bells - one in each hand. "Stop fidgeting, Deanna," said Gemma as she noticed her employer trembling slightly. "I'm sorry about that, Elizabeta. You know what secretaries can be like." "Yes. Soft. Poor circulation too. Come. Follow. Quick now." She snapped her fingers twice to punctuate her command and led the girls into the conference room where the heavy bulk of Mr Grimm sat waiting for them. He was an imposing figure - broad shouldered and with a body that looked like it was straining to escape its pin-stripe suit. There were a number of seats around the conference table, but also a revolving secretarial chair on wheels close by. "Slutty secretary girl sit there," said Elizabeta as she clicked her fingers again. Dean found himself sitting down quickly as ordered. His skirt rose up a little as he made himself comfortable on the slightly sloping seat, almost revealing the edges of his stocking tops. He squirmed and quickly pulled at the hem to fix it in place. The fabric of the seat felt rough and to his dismay it was acting like Velcro to the material of his skirt. Once settled as comfortably as he could be, Dean brushed his long platinum hair back with the fingers of his right hand. The nails felt clumsy as he gripped a pen and poised it over the loose leaf memo pad. (Eight) The meeting had been intolerable. If Dean had thought he was going to play a pa