A Nightmare In Silk And Lace 4 free porn video

A NIGHTMARE IN SILK AND LACE 4 By Cordellian With editing and additional loveliness by Rhonda Wagram Gemma Layton gazed around her new office with a deep and glowing sense of satisfaction. A traditional girl at heart, she had modelled the d?cor and layout on Don Draper's office in the TV series "Mad Men". There was a big desk with photos of her family displayed prominently, and an executive leather swivel chair with head rest and arm rests. There was a sofa of course, long enough to lie down on fully extended, when needing to spend an hour or two thinking round a particularly tricky problem, and three padded seats bought, like the sofa, from a vintage collectables store that specialised in reconditioned 1950s and 1960s furniture. A drinks cabinet stood in the corner, though Gemma didn't really drink. Well, maybe a small glass of Chardonnay now and again, but certainly not hard liquor - it went straight to her head. Nevertheless, Don Draper had one in "Mad Men", and he was a successful executive, so Gemma had followed suit. The windows looking out onto the main office floor had traditional blinds that could be lowered for privacy. Outside her door stood a smart secretarial desk that would be manned by the new girl she had recruited from the Academy. The girl's name was Kissy, and Gemma had been delighted to see how qualified she was. Top of the class in nearly every subject, with glowing references from both Nurse Holloway and the Headmaster, and time spent as a prefect in her class. It seemed she had been singled out for Special Classes, though the reports were very ambiguous as to what those could possibly be. The office also included a wide screen television set - rather more modern looking than the rest of the d?cor, but in that and her computer terminal she had to be realistic in her requirements. The wallpaper and carpets were of course replica vintage throughout, adding to the timeless 1963 feel. To mask the truth, this new, remote office had been given a cover name to disguise the fact that Amalgamated Amalgamations were performing due diligence on Prentice Industries, with a view to injecting investment capital into the ailing business. To this end, in addition to Mr Grimm's personal business team of twelve experienced and trusted business consultants, each one armed and equipped with shiny new Apple MacBook Pros, a new company had been established - Layton Solutions Inc. While Mr Grimm wasn't exactly going to entrust Gemma Layton with the serious business of Due Diligence, he had offered her the job of putting together a new business plan for Prentice Industries to take effect if, and it was still an if, Amalgamated Amalgamations injected capital into the sinking business. Layton Solutions had been Gemma's suggestion over a late dinner with Mr Grimm. The imposing businessman had appointed her as Project Manager, reporting directly to himself. Senior key members of staff had been brought over in secret through secondments from their jobs at Prentice Tower, with the junior (and relatively simple) data gathering and processing jobs going to office girls recruited locally from the Silk and Lace Academy for Girls. As the representative of the largest share holding family, a bored looking Charlotte Prentice had been given a large private office space (that she didn't really want) and the title of Executive Director (which she couldn't care less about). She sat in one of the retro 1960s chairs in Gemma's office, gazing out of the window that overlooked the hotel grounds to one side, and the high walled, impossibly secure, fortress like, Silk and Lace Academy for Girls on the other side. She suffered from the incurable boredom of the super rich where nothing had any real value because everything was there for the taking. When one dined on Lobster Thermidor for lunch, prepared by one of the finest French chefs in the city, one soon lost one's appreciation for the fabulous because routine turned the fabulous into simply ordinary. Her mind was anyway on other things. Raoul, her Puerto Rican gardener was on holiday as of two days ago, and she was already feeling sexually frustrated in his absence. She crossed her legs in the chair and wondered how she would cope for two whole weeks without the man's reliably efficient cock pumping her on demand. Today Charlotte wore a tailored Givenchy dress in black silk, with a hemline that fell to just above her knee. Her skin was perfectly tanned, and her long hair glossy and dark after being professionally straightened with hot irons for twenty minutes in the hotel salon. To Charlotte's right sat the hulking figure of Mr Charles Grimm, tightly suited in pin stripes as always. He was Mr Grimm to her and everybody else in the world, but simply Charles as far as Gemma was concerned; a distinction that irritated Charlotte immensely. For Charlotte's dislike of prissy Gemma Layton was growing in leaps and bounds. Bad enough that Gemma was incredibly beautiful, with a 'butter wouldn't melt in her mouth' innocence that men obviously found alluring, but now she was playing at being a 'Project Manager' in a subsidiary company that bore her surname. The sooner that snotty little secretary was back in a short skirt and sitting in a typist's chair the better. Mr Grimm was accompanied by his coldly efficient Russian PA, Elizabeta, who scared even Charlotte with the cyborg like way her eyes carefully watched everyone in a room, as if recording their slightest expression and analysing it for weakness. Someone had told Charlotte that Elizabeta had a near perfect memory. She could read a page of text in one go, walk away from it and then reproduce the text word perfect on a blank sheet of paper. Charlotte narrowed her eyes as she sat waiting for the meeting to begin. Was Elizabeta studying her ankles and wrists? She frowned and for a moment as she stared back, their eyes met. The eye contact lasted mere seconds before Charlotte looked away. There was something frightfully intimidating about Elizabeta's gaze, and Charlotte for one could never out-stare the woman. "Elizabeta - if you'd care to begin," said Gemma as she turned slightly in her big executive leather chair. "Thank you. Most kind. Layton Solutions now fully operational. Much staffing hired and girls all herded into office spaces. Very docile." Charlotte blinked. Elizabeta had such a strange choice of words sometimes. It must be her lack of familiarity with English. Yes, that must be it. "Much proactive work now to do. Girls need strict supervision. Discipline very crucial to achieving targets in competitive business world." Elizabeta wore a black leather cat suit with a single steel zip that ran down the front of the outfit and high heeled ankle boots, also black and shiny. A very large hoop ring was attached to the end of the zip. It was a strange choice of clothing for an office, thought Charlotte, and one that she would have commented on except that Mr Grimm and Gemma didn't seem to give it so much as a second thought. "I work close with Miss Layton. We share late evenings together in apartment with expensive wine. Make big business plans and build mighty economic empire that dominate Wall Street and then world." Charlotte uncrossed and crossed her legs again at the knee - a motion that didn't escape Elizabeta's attention. Once again the Russian woman's gaze shot like a laser beam in the direction of Charlotte's ankles. It was making her feel uncomfortable, all this staring. Perhaps she should have a word with Elizabeta after the meeting and put her straight? "Harrumph." Mr Grimm cleared his throat and studied the latest figures supplied by Gemma. "Well, Miss Layton, you seem to be running a tight ship here. Far tighter than the sloppy regime at your head office. Wasn't impressed by what I saw there last week during my anonymous visit. Girls slacking everywhere, standing around gossiping when they should be working. I trust we'll have none of that here at Layton Solutions?" "Of course not, Charles. That's why I asked the lovely Elizabeta to take charge of office conduct. Under her firm but fair discipline I'm sure the girls will prove to be exceptionally productive workers. She's very talented. We're working together really well." Gemma frowned for a moment as she noticed something. "Could I have a word in private, Charles?" "I suppose so." Mr Grimm looked surprised but assumed it was a matter of discretion relating to the financial situation of Prentice Industries, and with Charlotte in the room... He rose from his chair and followed Gemma outside and into the adjoining office room that was currently empty. They sat down around a meeting table. "Well?" "Is that a new tie, Charles?" Gemma regarded his neck wear with a sniff. "Pardon?" Mr Grimm gazed down at the maroon tie around his neck. "Yes, I bought it this morning." "Oh." Gemma wrinkled her cute little nose and tapped her lips with a pen, deep in thought. "Is something wrong, Miss Layton?" "Well..." Gemma sighed and drummed her fingers against the table. "I suppose if you like it..." "You... don't like it?" Mr Grimm looked down at the tie again. He thought it was very fashionable - a dashing splash of colour against the sombre pin stripes of his suit. "Not really, Charles. Not really. No." Gemma fixed him with a stare. "It's nothing. But..." "But?" Mr Grimm tried to read her expression. She was obviously disappointed with him, but he couldn't see why. "Well Charles, I thought we'd agreed that you'd talk to me before you made any changes to your wardrobe?" Gemma crossed her arms where she sat behind the desk. "Remember, in the restaurant on Tuesday? After we had that silly moment when I ordered a light Caesar salad for you, and then you complained that you had wanted to order steak and fries, and then we had that wholly avoidable scene when I had to tell you off in front of the waitress. You know how I hate doing that." "Miss Layton, you said you wouldn't mention that..." Mr Grimm looked sheepish as he recalled the restaurant on Tuesday. "And I wouldn't have, but oh, you silly man, you forgot the conversation we had afterwards, when I said I'd help you choose your clothes in future. A man can't live in pin stripes alone, you know." Gemma reached over and patted Mr Grimm's hand. "Tell you what," said Gemma. "Why don't you go back to your room, change into one of the pretty flowery ties I bought you yesterday, and then we'll forget all about this. We can continue the meeting without you. We've really got everything covered between us." "But the figures I was going to approve..." Mr Grimm gazed at Gemma. Had he ever seen a woman as beautiful as Gemma Layton before? He didn't think so. Each morning he woke up, knowing that it would be another day in which he'd get to spend time with her; another day when he would be able to gaze with longing at the perfectly proportioned calves of her legs (oh, if only she wore shorter skirts and he could see more of this delightful, enchanting woman...). "I'm sure Elizabeta and I can manage in your absence. They're only silly figures after all. And you'll be back before you know it." "Well..." "There you are, Charles, it's all agreed. You'll look so handsome in your new tie, and I'll be so very proud of you." said Gemma with a sweet smile as she played with the knot of his current tie, loosening it slightly in the process. "Oh, if only more men could be like you. You must have soooo many female admirers. You can always tell a REAL man because he's not afraid to take advice from a woman." "Well..." Mr Grimm coughed to clear his throat as the delightfully beautiful Miss Layton came perilously close to standing within kissing distance. Oh, but she was so very gorgeous. Could he possibly hope that one day soon... "Off you go then. Chop-chop." Gemma gave a little wave with the tips of her fingers as Mr Grimm stalked towards the door, not totally sure what had just happened. ********** "Why were you staring at my ankles!" demanded Charlotte with the sense of blind outrage familiar to the privileged rich, after Gemma had left to take a light lunch in the adjoining hotel building. Charlotte had lingered behind to confront Elizabeta as she gathered her papers together from her presentation. "I mentally estimate size ankle ring you take," said Elizabeta as she loomed over Mrs Prentice by a good nine inches in her heels. "Size 3 standard lockable stainless steel shackle with ten inch length chain between rings probably best choice. Snug fit but little chafe." "What!" "Do you have poor hearing? That common problem it seem with weak women of Western democratic lands. Soft from too much of puddings and lack of fresh air. Hearing not good as Russian woman, who live close to nature in Siberian pine forest with wolf for friends." "I don't wear steel shackles!" "Of course not. That is obvious. No visible marks or abrasions around ankles where cold steel would be locked. You are not yet in dungeon, in small kennel cage with snug collar and naked, begging to please. Much licking and kissing. Dungeon soon be built here in basement building then prize place for you with other slaves. Must make list. Need to know size collar you take. Not so easy to guess without measuring." "How dare you!" Charlotte took a step back, turned on her heels and stormed out of the office. "All girls of course be tattooed and pierced and branded when owned," said Elizabeta as Charlotte hurried away. (Two) The click-click-click-click-clicking sound of dozens of mirrored compacts opening and closing resonated down the corridor as identically clad secretaries-to-be carefully and mechanically checked their near-flawless make up in their hand held mirrors. Nervous fingers dabbed at cheeks and lips to touch up deficient spots with blusher, foundation and lipstick. They sat in a line leading away from an office door where interviews were being conducted, with their ankles crossed together, knees bent together, facing right. Each and every girl was dressed the same, in a diaphanous white blouse, tight and buttoned low beneath the bra line, a short black skirt worn over sheer stockings and suspender belt and a pair of four inch high heeled shoes. Deanna couldn't help herself. It was a matter of routine to check her make-up and so she dabbed a little bit more powder from the compact on her face. A girl could never have too much make-up, that's what Miss Lane, the Practical Nail and Hair Care teacher had told her. As Deanna clicked the lid of her pink compact shut, the office door swung open and a girl from the Academy hurried out in tears. Not all the girls did well in the interview, and those who didn't impress were quickly escorted back to the high-walled school grounds to resume their life in the class room. Nearly all the girls were desperate to graduate from the stifling atmosphere inside the Academy to a job with Layton Solutions, and yet there weren't that many vacancies left to be filled. Desperation, it seemed was beginning to hang in the air like a black cloud. Layton Solutions... Deanna huffed with annoyance. Why was it called Layton Solutions? Gemma was only Dean Prentice's secretary after all. Why did she get to have a subsidiary company named after her? "Next!" said Nurse Holloway as Linzi, the girl who had left the room crying, was led away by a tall muscular man with closely cropped hair, dressed in a black roll neck sweater, black trousers and black para-boots. The poor girl glanced back one last time as her heels dragged on the floor. She had so wanted to work here, thought Deanna. But now it might be months, a year even, before another decent job opportunity came her way. Deanna wasn't particularly concerned about the interview. After all, Gemma had promised to get her out of the Academy, and if there was one good thing about Gemma running Layton Solutions, it was that she could click her fingers and ensure that Deanna received preferential treatment. Obviously for appearances sake Deanna would have to go through the pretence of being interviewed, but they both knew it was a sham. The worst was surely over. In the next couple of days Gemma was bound to 'promote' Deanna into a senior position within the firm so that she could run things from behind the scenes. 'Even so, it might be best to check my lipstick before I go in,' thought Deanna, as she instinctively reached for her pink compact again. "Deanna! I said next, silly girl! That's you!" Nurse Holloway ticked Deanna's name off the list. As Deanna stood up and walked towards the door, Nurse Holloway added, "Stocking seams!" Deanna froze. Oh no! She hadn't checked her stocking seams! Her fingers ran quickly along each seam. Nice and straight along the left leg, but just a little crooked on the right. She fussed with her hands until they felt perfect and then hurried in through the open door. Once inside she stumbled to a halt. Sitting behind the interview desk was none other than teacher's pet and class prefect; the Spanish girl, Kissy. "Hello Deanna," said Kissy with an enigmatic smile. "Come in. Sit down." There was a single straight backed chair facing Kissy's desk. This wasn't a good start, thought Deanna. Kissy had taken a dislike to her at the school, especially after seeing Deanna kissing Debbie in the showers. "So, you want to apply for a job here." Kissy looked at Deanna's most recent school report. It was a tale of mixed results, with poor grades in sewing and average results in typing. "So do a lot of girls in the Academy. Opportunities like this don't arise very often." "Yes, Miss." Deanna sat down, smoothing her short skirt as she did so. It was true - competition was rife, as virtually every girl longed to graduate from the Academy and return to the 'real world'. "Miss Layton has put me in charge of recruiting for the secretarial pool. But I have to say, straight away, that your grades really aren't very impressive." The bitch! Deanna bit back her tongue. Kissy had never liked her, ever since she had caught Deanna kissing Debbie in the school showers. From that day on she had made Deanna's life hell at the Academy. And now she was in charge of recruitment? "I know the sort of girl you are, Deanna. Lacking in morals with a fluffy head that contains nothing but cotton wool. I'm really not sure you'd fit in here at Layton Solutions." "But Gemma Layton promised me a job here, and..." "She said nothing of the sort to me. Perhaps you'd care to speak to Elizabeta? She will be running the office here and approving my recruitment selections?" "Um, no..." Deanna's voice was just a bare whisper when Elizabeta's name was mentioned. "I really don't think we should bother her..." "Nor do I." Kissy smiled. "Well, stand up, pretty Deanna." Kissy walked round the side of her desk, holding a black felt tip marker pen in her right hand. "You see, I know what's going through your mind. As soon as you join Layton Solutions you're going to be flirting with every man in the building, not to mention any silly girl who might be confused enough to be flattered by your advances." "That's not true!" "Quiet. How I hate girls like you. Dirty, filthy little tramps in your short skirts and tight blouses. All you think about is boys and sex." Deanna noticed that Kissy had now graduated out of her school uniform which, it had to be said, consisted of a tarty short skirt and tight white blouse, and into a more modest and respectable knee length skirt and looser blouse. Presumably this was one of the perks of being Miss Layton's personal girl. "Pull your skirt down as far as it will go, you tramp." Kissy gestured with the marker pen. She watched as Deanna tugged at her short skirt hem. It wouldn't move far, but she managed to extend its coverage by half an inch. Then, once Kissy was satisfied that Deanna's skirt was covering as much of her thighs as possible, she drew a neat black line on each of Deanna's outer thighs, marking precisely where the skirt ended. "Now lift your hem an inch." Deanna did as she was told, and now Kissy drew a second black line on each thigh, parallel with the first. They were very neat lines, perfectly parallel. Kissy really was top of her class in every little way. "What are you doing?" asked Deanna. Kissy smiled. "Do you want to work here? Do you really want to work here?" "Yes." Deanna spoke quietly, in a frightened little whisper. The thought of being sent back to the academy, to have to endure several more months of brutal canings and discipline was too much to bear. "Because for every vacancy we have, there are at least four school girls applying for an interview." Where was Gemma? Deanna didn't understand why Kissy was here. Gemma had told Deanna that she would be working in the office. But now it seemed Kissy was in charge of the recruitment details. "So this is what you're going to have to do. Open your purse." Kissy watched as Deanna retrieved her pretty pink handbag and opened it to find her purse. It was a simple clutch purse with girlish sequins sewn on the sides. Inside were the remains of her last pocket money: two five dollar notes. Kissy produced a further hundred dollars and slid it into the open purse, clicking it shut afterwards. "You're going to go to the shopping mall in the hotel. Remember where the hair salon is situated?" Deanna nodded. She had been there three days ago to have her roots retouched. "Well, three doors down is a tattoo parlour." Deanna's expression looked suddenly startled. "Please, Miss... no... please..." "Don't interrupt. You walk in and tell the tattooist that you want the word 'Slut' tattooed on each thigh here." Kissy stroked the outer thigh of Deanna's right leg where the higher of the two parallel lines had been drawn. "The letters will be shocking pink and one inch high. As long as you pay careful attention to your hem line, you'll be able to keep the words covered up by an inch of skirt. But if you insist on exposing a little more of yourself than is necessary, well... everyone will see just what sort of filthy minded little tramp you are." Deanna burst into tears and began weeping into the palms of her hands. "Or... I can tell Miss Layton that you didn't pass the typing test, and so we sent you back to school for another four months. I'm sure Nurse Holloway will welcome you back with open arms..." (Three) "So, let me get this straight. You want me to tattoo the word 'slut' on both your outer thighs? Just an inch above your hem line?" Steve, the Tattooist, had seen some strange requests before, but never one like this. He sat beside the reclining chair on which his clients would lie down while he worked on their chosen designs. The tattoo shop was clean, brightly lit and felt like a wholesome and stylish salon rather than the more common backstreet businesses that seemed to cater to rock chicks and bikers. That it occupied shop floor space in the hotel mall was testament to the fact that it offered up-market services to the rich and famous. "Yes." Deanna adjusted her skirt hem again so that it covered up the exposed inch where the tattoo would be inscribed. "So, you're a slut, then?" He began to sort through his collection of sterilised needles and inks while he talked. "No." Deanna wiped a tear from her eyes. It had been a long walk from the office compound to the hotel and her feet ached now. She sat on the very edge of the reclining chair and swung her feet back and forth, brushing the high heels together. "Then why do you want the word slut tattooed on your thighs? It's going to be permanent, you know." "Oh God... Oh God..." Deanna pressed her hands to her face and broke down into an uncontrollable stream of sobbing. After a minute of this she felt the tattooist's strong hands on her shoulders, gently rubbing them. "Hey, it's okay. If there's something wrong, you can tell me." "I can't," sobbed Deanna. "I can't. You wouldn't understand." Deanna felt so very helpless. Events just continued to spiral rapidly out of her control and she couldn't see any end in sight. "You'd be surprised. I'm a good listener." Steve sat down on the edge of the seat, next to Deanna. His right hand began to stroke the back of her head as he talked. "Just let it out. Have a good cry. You'll feel better for it." With his left hand he passed a box of white tissues. "But I don't want to cry!" Deanna clenched her small hands into equally small and ineffectual fists. "Why am I always crying! What is happening to me?" As she said that, she subconsciously licked her lips again, tasting the sweet cherry red lip gloss. She knew that she'd have to reapply it sometime soon. "It's okay. You're a girl. Girls are allowed to cry." Steve smiled. "I'll let you in on a little secret. Breaking down in tears is always a good way to bring out the protective instincts in a man." Despite everything, it felt good to be held. Deanna had at first twitched and tried to move away when the man had run his hands through her hair, but now as his soothing voice spoke gently to her, now as his arm went round her waist to comfort her, Deanna began to feel strange emotions well up inside her. She was being comforted, looked after, protected. That didn't usually happen with anyone else she met. Now the relief at finding someone, who didn't seek to torment her in some new and horrible way was a welcome prospect, even if the person consoling her was a man with strong arms and a broad, hairy chest. Deanna glanced up at the man's face. There was a rugged chin, a day or two's worth of stubble, strong blue eyes, some laughter lines around the eyes, and close cropped dark brown hair, with specks of grey at the sides and fringe. Deanna wasn't the best judge of such things, but she supposed the man would be considered handsome by women. Before she knew what she was doing, Deanna responded to the comforting embrace by snuggling closer into his arms. "See," said the calm and reassuring voice. "Things don't have to be so bleak." Yes, it felt good to be held when you were crying. Deanna crossed her slim ankles and nibbled her lower lip nervously. She wasn't used to people treating her kindly. Only Debbie had done so. She felt a hand guide her head against the man's shoulder. Deanna closed her eyes and sighed. A few minutes peace from the madness and the torment. Was that too much to hope for? "You okay like this?" Deanna nodded, her voice too choked up to reply. "I'm glad." The man laughed. "Don't take this the wrong way, but, well, you're a very sexy girl. I think this feels good too." Oh, if only you knew the truth, thought Deanna silently. If only you knew... "So tell me. Why the tattoos? Honestly. Because I'm not going to put them on you until you tell me what's wrong." "I'm applying for a job, and I'll only get it if I go through with the tattoos." Deanna snuggled a bit closer. The strong arms were sooo comforting after all the stress and terror of the last month. Was this what it felt like to be a girl? To weep and be comforted by a strong man? Part of her mind rejected such things automatically. But another part welcomed the respite from her never ending ordeal. "That's the craziest thing I've ever heard. The job can't possibly be that important to you." "You don't understand." Deanna felt frustrated. How could she possibly explain? Things had spiralled so far out of her control. In just under a week now her second batch of share futures would come due, and so it was imperative that Prentice Industries secured the investment capital from Amalgamated Amalgamations. If the share price rose, then Deanna stood to win her losses back. If it didn't, well, it was quite possible she'd be ruined. There was no way she could leave matters solely in the hands of Gemma Layton. Deanna had to be present in the office to ensure the deal went through in time. Signing the contracts one day after the futures were due would be one day too late. "Then make me understand." The Tattooist cupped Deanna's chin in his hand and lifted her face until he was looking down into her eyes. "I can't... I just can't..." "Okay." He held his hands in the air as if in surrender. "Then I'll need you to sign a release form, because I don't want any comebacks a few days later when you realise the enormity of what you've paid me to do. Each tattoo will cost eighty dollars." "Eighty dollars?" Deanna thought hard. Kissy had given her one hundred dollars. Was that more or less than two times eighty? These were big numbers. Two times eighty, why, that was..." Deanna did some sums on her fingers, counting off some tens, but she quickly got lost and had to start again. "Something wrong?" Steve watched her silently mouthing 'ninety five, ninety six, ninety seven, as she tapped the fingers of her left hand with the index finger of her right. "I'm... what's the total cost?" "One hundred and sixty dollars. Plus state tax." "Oh." That was definitely more than the money she was carrying. "I don't have that much..." Steve sighed. "Well, don't get the tattoos then. Honestly, I'd seriously advise you not to have them." "I don't have a choice. I have to get this job!" Unless she was present in the office, there was no telling whether the finance deal would go through smoothly before the share futures deadline passed by. "You do, do you?" Steve tapped his chin with the tip of his electric needle. "How about you pay me some other way?" "Some other way?" Deanna fidgeted in a very feminine manner on the edge of the reclining chair. She kicked her heels in the air as she gazed up at the man. "You don't mean..." Deanna didn't have the chance to say anything else as without warning Steve leaned forward and kissed her full on the lips. Taken completely by surprise, Deanna tried to pull away, but a firm hand in the small of her back pressed her forward to receive the kiss with a sexy wriggle of her body. "What are you doing?" cried Deanna in alarm as she came up for air. "What does it feel like I'm doing? Lips that look like that just cry out to be kissed. So, what do you say? I can waive the fee..." "No... please..." Deanna was horrified to feel a warm feeling in her groin. A second kiss tasted her lips, followed by a third, and this time she felt the man's strong body pressing through her thin blouse, and against her sensitive nipples. Deanna's face flushed red as she emerged breathless from the third kiss. "You say no, but your body is wriggling like the slut you want me to tattoo on your thighs." His hand had snaked up under her skirt and was stroking now close to Deanna's panty line. She slapped his hand where it lay under the skirt. "You mustn't!" "Harsh words coming from someone who wants 'slut' tattooed on her thighs. But okay, your choice. The door is over there." "Please... I can't go back to Kissy without the tattoos..." "God, you're a real bimbo, aren't you? It's not just the fluffy hair." Steve reached down and took hold of Deanna's hips with both hands. With hardly any effort he flipped her round and on to her stomach. Deanna kicked her slim ankles in the air as she felt the man lay her belly down over the reclining leather chair and pull the hemline of the back of her skirt until her panties peeked out. "Oh! Your hands!" They were between her thighs now as she wriggled on the surface of the chair. "You're wearing a chastity belt?" Steve's hands had found it under the silk panties. Deanna nodded and blushed as her head hung over the side of the chair. "We can work round that." Now Steve pulled the panties down around Deanna's knees, exposing her anal passage. "Last chance to say no." "Oh God..." Deanna whimpered and tried to brush hair away from her eyes. Her upper body was tilted now over the side of the chair, and her long hair dangled over her face. "I'm not hearing that no," said Steve. Deanna heard a zip open, followed by some fumbling as Steve pulled his cock out through the front of his jeans. It was thick and hairy and already beginning to get excited. He brushed the head of his penis against Deanna's buttocks while he began to stroke his balls. Gradually the cock began to stiffen and push insistently against Deanna's bottom. "Please be gentle with me. Please..." This was going to be very different from the dildo that Debbie had used on her. This was the real thing, and it belonged to a man. Steve reached out and took hold of the girl's wrists, pulling them together at the small of her back. "Hope you like bondage, honey, because I sure do." He took a length of wire flex from his work table and lashed Deanna's wrists tightly together. It hurt, and would definitely leave marks on her skin. "Mmm, all trussed up with your ass in the air." Steve traced his fingers across Deanna's crack. "Do you have any idea how inviting that is?" His hands felt rough against Deanna's soft skin. A month of ex foliating and applying body lotions to her skin had worked wonders. Now she felt those strong hands pushing her thighs apart. She felt the man's lips and teeth kissing and teasing around her inner thighs, above the line of the stockings. Despite herself she began to moan and pant. Within minutes Deanna began to feel aroused, and she hated herself for feeling that way. It was almost forgivable with Debbie, but Steve was a man! She had to be strong. She had to resist any possible sensations that might feel good. She mustn't enjoy any aspect of... "Oh! Oh! Oh!" Deanna had no idea what Steve had just done, but a shiver of pleasure rippled through her body. Her back arched and her thighs opened to his touch with a mind of their own. With his left hand still stroking Deanna's heavenly bottom, Steve ripped open the foil wrapper of a thick condom with his teeth. It only took a few seconds to slide the lubricated rubber down the length of his shaft. All the while his left hand never let up from teasing Deanna in her most sensitive spots - the spots where an experienced touch released a gasp of pleasure from her lips. Now Deanna felt something stiff pressing against her tight bum hole. She bit her lips as a series of probing thrusts forced a small entry - no more than an inch, but a beach head nonetheless. It was painful, sufficient to make Deanna grit her teeth. "You're doing great, girl," Steve whispered into Deanna's right ear as he brushed some of her hair aside. "You're nice and tight, which is just the way I like it." Now he pushed harder, forcing another couple of inches inside Deanna. She wriggled, still hurting, as Steve continued to stroke and caress her. "God, you're sexy." 'But I don't want to be sexy,' thought Deanna as she was penetrated by another inch of penis. 'I don't want to be a sexy girl, all soft and feminine! I just want my normal life back before it's too late.' A strong hand pressed her face down against the foam padding of the seat as Steve made himself comfortable, resting his weight against Deanna's back. With a final thrust he forced himself all the way inside Deanna's ass. Already Deanna's legs were trembling, thrust wide apart as they were. And now that long stiff cock began to slide back and forth, accompanied by grunts and gasps from the man as he took hold of Deanna's hair and twisted it around his left hand like a set of reins. Deanna felt helpless again, with her hands secured behind her back, and her head under Steve's control. She could do nothing but lie there on her stomach as the tattooist drove himself slowly at first, but then picking up speed with each thrust. His hips rocked as his pelvis thumped hard against Deanna's bottom. "Yes. Fucking, yes!" Steve was flushed with excitement now as he slapped Deanna's bare thighs in time to his thrusts. His hands began to play with the suspender straps holding her stockings up, tweaking and pulling them. "God, I love suspenders and stockings on a girl. There's nothing sexier." Now the head of Steve's cock was brushing that special spot deep inside Deanna's ass. She began to tremble and shake as she felt her own penis swell to the small extent her chastity belt allowed. Despite her best intentions, Deanna began to gasp and moan as Steve continued to thrust deep inside her. If he just kept brushing her erogenous zone like that, even with the belt on Deanna was sure to... "Aaaahhhhh!" Steve forced Deanna hard against the chair as he thrust one last time and pressed down with all his weight, ejaculating inside his condom. "No, no, no. no..." Deanna sobbed with frustration. Just a couple more minutes... just a couple more minutes... that's all it would have taken. "God... fuck... yes..." Steve bit deep into Deanna's right shoulder and nibbled at the back of her neck through the long blonde hair. "That was... amazing." (Four) It was raining again. These last two weeks it had rained more often than not, adding to Charlotte's annoyance at having to even be here in the first place. Her husband, Dean, should be here overseeing the business meetings, leaving her free to soak up the sun at San Tropez or at the private house in the Seychelles. If she wasn't careful her perfect tan was going to suffer before too long. Charlotte was still feeling horny. She needed sex badly, but in the absence of obedient and incredibly long lasting Raoul, she wasn't sure where she might get it. As she stood smoking a cigarette in the shelter of a side doorway, she noticed a delivery van coming up the road towards the office complex. She idly rubbed her thighs together again and thought about sex. It was difficult to think of anything else. Two weeks, less two days, that was how long she still had to wait before Raoul was back. It felt like a lifetime. God, but she needed relief. At least in the hotel there had been the luscious sight of badly performing maids thrust over a chair, with their skirts pushed up to reveal soft bottoms just begging to be spanked. During her stay Charlotte had engineered the spankings of three different maids on five separate occasions. "Excuse me, Miss." One of the delivery men approached her as his partner began to unlock the rear doors to the van. "Yes?" Charlotte took another drag from her cigarette and tapped the ash against the door frame. The man was dressed in poorly fitting overalls and smelled of dry sweat. One of the lower classes, obviously, and precisely the kind of man Charlotte tended to only deal with at a distance and via intermediaries. Simply allowing him to stand close to her was a matter of some irritation. "I'm looking for..." he checked his clipboard. Already the pages of paper were damp from the rain, "Layton Solutions?" "That's here." Charlotte smoked her cigarette again and cocked a finger at the door behind her back. "Right. Well, I've got a delivery. Are you important enough to sign for it?" "Of course I am. I'm an Executive Director. That's a very important job title." Charlotte wasn't sure what Executive Director actually meant, but Mr Grimm had promised her it was second only to Managing Director in importance. As such she had a large office with a big desk, and she was entitled to come and go as she pleased. Most days she would make an appearance just before lunch and watch some day time TV on the wide screen Plasma TV. Occasionally there might be a meeting for her to sit in during the afternoon, though any ones with Elizabeta in attendance made her nervous for some reason. From time to time Mr Grimm would have some papers to sign in lieu of her husband being present. "Okay. We have five medium steel cages, two small steel cages, two communal feeding troughs, some non-slip rubber mats, an eight foot tall wooden post with a steel ring bolted to the top, two sets of hinged stocks and a wooden frame shaped like an 'x' with eye hooks screwed into all four corners. Could you sign here, please?" Charlotte frowned. "Are you sure you have the right place? We're some sort of finance company, I think." She scrutinised the paperwork. It did indeed say 'steel cages' purchased from a company called 'Shackled Love'. Most peculiar. "Layton Solutions?" "Yes..." "Well, that's where we're delivering to." The man checked the details on the delivery invoice. "For your basement, I think." "I really don't understand..." Charlotte stubbed out her cigarette and stared through the light rain as the van doors swung open to reveal the first of several steel cages. It had a low door that required an occupant to crawl into it on her hands and knees. There was also a small steel ring welded onto one of the ceiling bars to which a chain snap lock could be attached. "Don't look at me, Miss. We're just paid to deliver this stuff." The men began to lift the equipment and carry it through to the basement floor. (Five) Gemma Layton had found real IBM Selectric typewriters of 1962 at 'typewriter.com' for the office to enhance the retro look of the floor space. The important work would of course be done on laptops, archived onto a central server, but she took a sense of serene pleasure at looking out through her glass partition wall at a busy office full of bustling secretaries with girdle enhanced hourglass figures, dressed in skirts and seamed stockings, typing memos and letters on old fashioned IBM machines with their type balls. 'Mad Men' was such a good TV series, she thought. The men wore such smart suits and the women had such elegant frocks. It was a simpler time, and perhaps a happier time, without the stress and complexity of iPods, Facebook and 24/7 reality TV shows. She ran her manicured fingers along the spines of the boxed sets of seasons one to three on DVD that sat on her shelf space. She could imagine being a young accounts executive at Stirling Cooper, happily surprising the men with her brilliant ideas that would seem to come out of nowhere to defy their expectations. Gemma's intercom buzzed from the front desk. "Yes?" Gemma pressed her finger down onto the heavy button. A crackly voice that belonged to Kissy came through the old fashioned system. "Sorry to bother you, Miss, but I have a junior secretary here who wants to speak to you. I told her you were busy but she seems to think you'll make an exception for her." Kissy was such a good personal secretary - efficient and professional in every way. She really was the pick of the crop from the Silk and Lace Academy for Girls. "Oh, really?" Gemma sat back in her big chair. It was sooo comfy. And it swivelled 360 degrees with just a small push of her fingers against the edge of the desk, and the ball bearing socket didn't make the slightest sound during a complete revolution. That was the sign of quality engineering at its best. It was made in Germany of course. Swivelling round three times in quick succession made Gemma light headed and giddy, but it was fun, nonetheless. "And what's the name of this self-important girl?" "Deanna, Miss Layton." Deanna. Well, it would be, wouldn't it? Gemma sighed. What on earth would it be now? You would have thought the girl could manage to get through her first morning in a new job without having to knock on Gemma's front door. "Send her in this once." Gemma picked up the remote control and switched off episode five from season two of Mad Men. The outer door opened and closed as Deanna stepped cautiously into Gemma's office. "Gemma! There's been some sort of mistake!" Here we go, sighed Gemma as she rested her head in one hand. As she tapped her fingers on the surface of her desk blotter, Gemma came to the dawning realisation that she had finally had enough. Picking up her pen she tapped the name plate on her desk that read 'Miss Layton'. "Miss Layton..." said Dean as she moved towards a seat facing the desk. Smoothing down her short skirt, she sat down on her silicone enhanced bottom and wriggled until she was comfortable. "What now?" Gemma regarded her boss with a sense of irritation. To be honest she couldn't conceive of him as her boss any more. Deanna looked every inch the airhead bimbo secretary. And in some ways she seemed to suit the role. After all, Gemma knew perfectly well that Dean Prentice had been a disastrous Managing Director. He had almost single-handedly driven a once thriving and successful company to the brink of collapse. It was obvious to Gemma that the company was actually running smoother now that Dean Prentice was out of the picture. It was also obvious to her that thousands of men and women depended on their jobs with Prentice Industries for their livelihood. Mortgages, bills, the upkeep of children, all these things had recently teetered on the brink of disaster. If Prentice Industries collapsed it wouldn't just impact Dean Prentice's stock portfolio, it would also destroy the lives of many thousands of good people, who needed the job security during the recession. The fact was, Dean Prentice as Managing Director was a risk to every man and woman, who worked for him. Putting it like that, it was difficult not to think along certain obvious lines. "Kissy has hired me as a junior secretary! She has me typing on the main floor and making coffee." Deanna pouted as she leaned forward in her seat, bottom lifting slightly, as she put her weight on the toes of her shoes. 'And it keeps you where you can't do any harm to your company,' thought Gemma to herself. "Are you saying you don't know how to type or make coffee? I do hope Kissy hasn't placed you in a job you're not qualified for?" "What? No. I mean..." "What you mean is you're a stupid little bimbo, who can't go three hours without making a fuss. How am I supposed to get anything done when you keep interrupting me?" Gemma tapped a few keys on her Mac keyboard and checked her Hotmail account. She was waiting for a reply to a personal e-mail she had sent earlier in the day. It was in relation to the matter at hand, concerning the former Mr Dean Prentice. "You don't understand! Kissy spanked me this morning! She doesn't like me." Deanna rubbed her tightly skirted rump. It still felt sore. "Did she now?" Kissy was obviously a perceptive girl and a good judge of character, thought Gemma. If only Dean Prentice had been spanked a little more often when he was pretending to be a man, then perhaps it wouldn't be quite so necessary now. "Yes. And you have to put a stop to it, Miss Layton. She says my deportment isn't up to the standards she expects in the office. She says she'll spank me until I learn to walk better. There's nothing wrong with the way I walk! I use both feet, for God's sake. You have to do something!" "Well, she is technically in charge of the secretarial desks. But you're right, we can't have you being spanked every morning. That really won't do." At last. Deanna sighed with relief. At last his dumb bitch of a secretary realised that this sort of treatment couldn't be condoned. At long last he had got it through her pretty head that she needed to rescue him. "It would cause a scene and disrupt work for ten minutes at least. No, we can't have that. There's only one way to put a stop to it," mused Gemma as she rose from her chair. Now Deanna smiled. Revenge would be so sweet. Kissy would be summoned into Gemma's office and given a serious reprimand. Deanna would enjoy every moment of it. She wasn't sure whether she wanted Gemma to dismiss Kissy afterwards, or simply demote her to some very junior role. Both punishments had their various merits. "The first thing you're doing wrong, Deanna, is you walk too quickly. Stand up please." What? Deanna blinked and glanced back towards the door. Wasn't Gemma going to buzz Kissy in from her desk? Deanna wanted that damn Spanish girl to take her punishment in front of her. Kissy had been a real bitch at school and now she was being a bitch here too. Why on earth had Gemma given her the top secretarial job? "Now, first things first. Let's practice your posture in your four inch heels. Throw your shoulders back and push your pelvis slightly forward. That gives you a good starting point before you take your first step." "Miss Layton, what are you doing?" Deanna felt Gemma's hands pose his body. "Teaching you how to walk better so that Kissy doesn't have to spank you any more, silly. That is why you came here, right?" "No, I mean, what I meant was..." "I know exactly what you meant. I read all about it in a book yesterday: 'How to feminise your man and make him beg for more.' $14.99 from Amazon. I love the fact they don't charge for postage. I understand what you're looking for now, Deanna. I'm sorry that it took me so long to realise." "No, wait, that's not..." "Now, when you take your first step in heels, what you need to do is place the ball of your foot down first. Don't make the mistake of trying to lead with your heel! What a disaster that would be. Balancing your weight on the ball of the foot ensures an elegant stride. It's like walking on your tippy-toes. Much better than clunking around on your heels like a mule. Take a couple of practice steps like that." "Please, Miss Layton!" "I can spank you too, you know?" Deanna took a couple of practice steps, placing her weight down on the balls of her feet first. It felt strange to walk that way. "Now the other thing you're doing wrong is just striding forward like you're in charge of the place, when really you'd struggle with changing the coffee beans in an espresso machine. You should just place one foot literally in front of the other. That's right - heel to toe, and toes must always face forward! So now, you're walking along an imaginary line, a bit like a tightrope walker. And look, see how walking like that makes your hips rotate." It was true. With each step Deanna now took, her body swung from side to side. Only her feet kept the discipline of a perfect straight line. "Now you see you're taking short steps, but there's a trick so that you can disguise that. Lift your legs like a graceful pony would. Don't just drag your feet along the ground - lift each foot a good distance with a slight bend to the knee. Then place it down just in front of the foot that is supporting your weight. Look straight ahead - never look down! Try focussing on an object or person in the direction you're walking. But do keep your chin down a little and your eyes up. Never swing your upper arms - just let your lower arms sway a little. There - that's so much better, Deanna. What else? Fingers... sooo important for a girl. See how yours look while you're walking. You're naturally curling your fingers. That's such a no-no. Let them hang straight down. Sometimes shaking your hands out will help your fingers relax and look so pretty when you do it." Deanna whimpered softly as she followed Gemma's instructions. "Now practice everything together, up and down my office floor five times." Gemma watched carefully as Deanna swished across the room, head up, hips swinging in time to each small step she took. "Much better. Much better, Deanna. I don't think anyone's going to be spanked for walking sloppily from now on, are they?" "But, Miss Layton..." "Hush." Gemma picked out a book from her wooden book case and opened it to chapter seven. "Since you're here, Deanna, there's something I've been meaning to say to you." Deanna could see the cover of the book as it flopped open from a broken, heavily creased spine. It was a paperback entitled "Sissification for Beginners", a title which did not bode well. "Miss Layton..." "It's amazing what you can learn from books, Deanna. They really are repositories for knowledge. Take this one for example. Chapter seven - if I hadn't read it I would have overlooked a crucial aspect of your disguise." Gemma ran her finger across a couple of paragraphs that she had highlighted with a marker pen. "I'm glad I spotted this small but important detail before the other girls in the office did. They would have got very suspicious." "Miss Layton, please, about Kissy..." Why didn't she listen? Deanna flapped her hands at the wrists, impatient to get this over with. "Please do not interrupt me, Deanna. It's one of your more unappealing habits. Now, since you're going to be a girl for the foreseeable future, we're going to have to face some hard facts. Girls have periods. If you don't have periods too, the other secretaries are going to suspect something is wrong. Do you know what the symptoms of periods are? Are you familiar with the biology of the female menstrual cycle?" "Not really..." Deanna knew that they involved women being grumpy and unavailable for sex, which is really all Dean Prentice ever needed to know about the subject. "Well, we're talking about significant menstrual pain, abdominal pain, migraine headaches, depression, emotional sensitivity, feeling bloated, changes in sex drive and nausea. Then there are other problems like breast swelling and discomfort caused by premenstrual water retention. Binge eating occurs in a minority of menstruating women, leading to fluctuations in weight. Then of course there's the bleeding, lasting between two to seven days." "But I'm not a woman. That's not going to happen to me," said Deanna. "Well it will, provided you take these tablets once a week." Gemma produced a small bottle of tablets and placed it on the edge of her desk. "Atromicycline, Deanna, was supposed to be a new wonder drug designed to reduce problems with menstrual flow. Prentice Industries have been working on it for sixteen months now. Sadly the trial samples proved flawed as they actually made menstrual symptoms worse. According to the test paper, the tablets would induce symptoms in a man similar to a woman's menstrual cycle. The tablets never made it onto the market, obviously, but we still have boxes of the first batch in storage. Isn't that wonderful? Provided you take the tablets, all the other girls will see you suffer just like they do." "But I don't want to suffer! Miss Layton, can't I just pretend?" "Of course not. I really don't think you're being fair here, Deanna. In fact you're being very selfish. How dare you expect all the other girls to suffer alone? You're in the typing pool now. I'm a firm believer in team bonding and ensuring members of staff all experience the same things in the work place. Take two tablets." Gemma opened the cap and dropped two of the pills onto the palm of her left hand. "Come on. I haven't got all day." "No!" Deanna stamped her foot. "I won't. I don't want to suffer from period cramps and headaches and feeling bloated. This is a step too far." "Is it? Well, I suppose there is the other option. If you weren't working in the office, then the other girls wouldn't see you, and they wouldn't know you're not having a regular period. How about you just don't work in the office any more?" Deanna couldn't believe Gemma had just said that. "Seriously? I could stop wearing this office skirt and blouse?" She looked stunned. Gemma nodded. "Of course." "I wouldn't have to sit at a typewriter desk any more?" "Well, you couldn't really, could you? We couldn't have you meeting the girls on a regular basis." "Oh, Miss Layton. That's wonderful news! This has been such an ordeal. You have no idea. All these long weeks since we first arrived at the hotel. Thank you. Thank you!" "Well, it's settled then. Shall we say you begin work as one of the Portuguese cleaners tomorrow night? The shifts begin at six in the evening and finish at..." "What? Wait a minute..." "Oh, is there a problem?" Gemma juggled the two pills in her left hand. "You'll be cleaning the offices and toilets throughout the night, so we should be able to avoid any awkward questions from the office girls. It's unlikely any of them will see you, unless you're still working when they come in in the morning. It's a long shift, mind, and Mrs Habberfast, the overseer, is a stickler for perfection. I hear she wears a white cotton glove on her right hand, and if there's any trace of dirt on it when she runs her index finger along a freshly cleaned surface..." "I'd rather be an office girl than a cleaner, Miss Layton!" "Would you?" Gemma paused to think about this for a minute. "Well, yes, I suppose you would. It's really not a pleasant job cleaning the toilets. Cleaners always go home smelling of bleach for hours afterwards. And it's such gruelling work, especially using just an old toothbrush." "Toothbrush?" "Mmm. Apparently if a girl annoys Mrs Habberfast, she makes the girl clean the toilets with an old tooth brush. It takes hours apparently. And woe betide a girl who is still furiously scrubbing away on her knees when the office opens for business at eight in the morning. It's really not good for your knees." "Please let me stay in the typing pool! Please." "Well, I don't know, Deanna." Gemma continued to juggle the pills. "I think a job in the office is more suited to girls who menstruate, don't you?" Close to crying again, Deanna reached out, took the pills from Miss Layton's hand, and popped them into her mouth. She made a swallowing motion and sniffed back a tear. "Open wide," said Gemma, who was wise enough to check for herself. She carefully examined the inside of Deanna's mouth until she was completely satisfied. "Good. You should experience your first symptoms in just over 24 hours. You'll be needing these of course..." Gemma produced a pack of tampons - long cylinders of rayon/cotton blends - and a stiff applicator designed specifically for men. "Insert these each morning and you shouldn't have any stains spreading on the back of your skirt. But do check for any trace of leakage throughout the day. Sometimes a girl's flow may be heavier than normal. Check, check and always check again." Deanna looked very miserable as she took the packet. "That will be all, Deanna. I've got a meeting in ten minutes time and I need to prepare." As Deanna left, still feeling very frustrated, Gemma buzzed Kissy at the outer desk and said, "I don't want Deanna interrupting me again in future. She really has to learn to look after herself. Next time send her away with a sound spanking if you feel it's appropriate." "Yes, Miss Layton," said Kissy with a sense of smug satisfaction, already flexing her fingers. (Six) The junior secretaries enjoyed a 15 minute coffee break at 11.00 AM each morning. It was a time to down pens, stretch cramped legs and catch up with all the gossip from the night before in the alcove room that housed the hot drinks vending machine. Deanna felt out of place as a gaggle of excited girls set about discussing all the latest celebrity news in a glossy magazine that was being passed around. Only Kissy was absent, for Kissy was entitled to enjoy coffee at her desk, in a cup and saucer no less - something that was considered out of bounds for junior girls. Kissy's coffee was freshly ground and from the same espresso machine that Gemma Layton drank from. "Heels killing you?" asked Amanda as she sat down next to Deanna with her plastic cup of brown liquid that shared certain similarities with instant coffee. Deanna was fidgeting with the back of her right shoe, pulling the leather away from her heel. She nodded in answer to the question. "They're new, and tight. I think I've rubbed some skin from the back of my heel." "You'll need a sticking plaster then." Amanda sipped her drink and bit a small piece off the edge of her biscuit. It was a dainty little bite, the kind that Kissy encouraged in the office. Smart efficient girls didn't gobble biscuits, she had said at the first coffee morning meeting. In fact, office rule 17 clearly stated no gobbling of biscuits. A biscuit should last as long as the cup of coffee, if not longer. "So, how are you getting on?" "Not well." Deanna looked at the girl from under the line of her platinum blonde fringe. "I keep making so many typing mistakes. It's these fingernails..." she held up the long nails, painted a glossy pink. "It's not possible to type with nails like this." "You'll learn." Pause. "We all know about Debbie." Amanda nibbled another fragment of biscuit and gazed hard at Deanna. "They made a mistake... I ticked the option to share the detention, but Nurse Holloway made a mistake!" "Do you think I'm stupid?" Amanda kicked Deanna under the table. "Everyone knows what you did. Believe me, you don't have a single friend in the secretarial pool." "No, please, it's not like that!" "You'd better watch yourself, Deanna. Nobody here likes you. Debbie had a lot of friends." As Amanda said that, one of the other office girls, Jenny, 'accidentally' bumped into Deanna's chair and suddenly spilled half a cup of coffee over Deanna's perfect white blouse. "Ooops. Sorry!" said Jenny in a voice that made it clear she was anything but. "My blouse!" Deanna jumped to her feet. As she did, a hand sneaked out from right of her and pinched her arm hard enough to draw a bruise. "Ow!" Deanna spun round, clutching her arm, only to see three office girls standing very close together, trying hard to look innocent, stifling giggles. Having turned round, Deanna felt another hard pinch against her left buttock. "Ow!" She snapped back round, tottering slightly on her heels. "See how it is," said Amanda as she took another nibble of her biscuit. "You've made a bad name for yourself. We're not going to forget that in a hurry, missy." Deanna was in tears as she hurried back to her desk, mindful of the glares and frowns from the other secretaries. They were all being so horrible! Deanna pulled a pink tissue from a box that sat beside her typewriter and dabbed at her moist eyes. Why was she crying so much these days? It had begun at that wretched school. Eight days in and Deanna had found herself becoming far more sensitive to being upset. Little things that Dean Prentice would have shrugged off as being unimportant would now make her feel emotional. But she didn't understand why. She was still trying to figure it out as she clicked open her compact and began to re-apply her lip gloss. It was infuriating the way she couldn't help licking her lips on a regular basis. She was practically ingesting tubes of the lip gloss every week, and it wasn't cheap. Kissy insisted on the brand as standard in the office, and it was costing Deanna twenty dollars a tube. And then there was the cost of the regular body sugar waxings and the trips to the hair salon to have her roots dyed as soon as they began to show. Why was she feeling so emotional all the time? Just yesterday she'd had to rush to a toilet cubicle and have a weep after Kissy had told her off in front of all the other secretaries. She had made three typing errors on a letter and her quality score for that day was 43% which wasn't very good at all. There - now her lips looked nice and shiny again. It was important to have pretty lips. In English class at the school, Deanna had been forced to write an essay on the importance of pretty lips. (Seven) Charlotte had the door to her office open while she sat gazing out at the office floor. She was bored with a capital B. Scattered on her desk were several glossy brochures for exclusive and reassuringly expensive holidays to premium resorts in Dubai and Bali. She could be out there now, basking in the glorious sunshine, spending Dean Prentice's inheritance, but instead this dreary Due Diligence dragged on and on and on and... just where was her philandering and untrustworthy husband exactly? Every time she asked Gemma she got a vague response about skiing trips or business trips or visiting sick relatives. As she pondered the gross unfairness of life, her attention was drawn to the sight of an office girl being led away by that mad Russian woman, Elizabeta. "My office, now!" barked Mr Grimm's Personal Assistant. "Five mistakes in typing already today! Seven yesterday. Stupid girl. How many is that?" "Fifteen?" sobbed Deanna as