A Wimp At Work free porn video

A WIMP AT WORK by Throne It was Allen's first day at his new job and he wanted to make a good impression. He put on his checked sport coat, a white shirt, and close- fitting slacks. He thought he looked okay but everyone else would see him as a skinny short guy with a pointy chin and glasses sliding down his long nose. Worse, he wore his hair collar length and it was straight and dull. But he missed all that. He checked his shoes, which were a bit scuffed, the ends of their laces frayed, and got off the bus in front of the building. There was a nail salon at street level and he paused to peek at the women who were getting their fingernails done or having their toenails colored. He saw one matronly type having a pedicure. Though he though he was unnoticed, inside the shop the women were telling each other, out of the sides of their mouths, to check the geeky loser in the funny jacket. They laughed at him but he just thought they were reacting to something that had been said. He moved to the revolving door of the lobby and stepped between the moving sections. A busty female entered from the interior and he stopped in his tracks, dazzled by her sexiness. The door kept moving, with a big guy behind him shoving hard. Allen lost his footing and stumbled, going down in a heap. He looked up and the desirable woman was scowling down at him. She yelled something and he struggled to get up. He felt like a fish in an aquarium. The man behind him hammered on the glass. Allen finally got himself upright, his jacket twisted around, and half-stepped, half-fell into the lobby. He went to the elevator and found himself between two more attractive females. His eyes strayed to their impressive busts and he stepped back to ogle their wide protruding backsides. One of them swung around angrily and called him a pervert. He turned away from her and the other was glaring furiously at him. She called him a creep and he was afraid she was going to spit in his face. Badly shaken, he got off at the wrong floor and was too upset to try the elevator again. Instead he climbed two flights of stairs and arrived at his new place of employment sweating and with hair hanging in his face. As soon as he went inside, the pretty receptionist gave him a critical look. He cringed and pushed his glasses up his nose. She said, "Yes? Do you have an appointment?" Hesitantly, he told her, "I came about the job. I mean, I applied for the job. I applied and got accepted. I work here." He glanced at her name tag. "Marcy." Allen was thinking that maybe he could ask her out. He had never had any luck with women but he kept trying. Still, after the way he had been laughed at and rejected recently, he felt like he might give up. What was wrong with him, he wondered. "Name." "Allen." "All right, Eileen. I'll let them know you're here." He wanted to correct her but didn't want to create a problem. He told himself he'd explain the mistake to the next person he spoke with. Marcy ushered him through a door and told him how to reach the personnel office. He followed her directions but got turned around somehow. Eventually he got there and entered. Behind the desk was an older woman with a sour face. He went to her and said, "I'm... I mean, excuse me. I'm Allen." "They called and said you were coming, but they gave me a different name. That's what I put on your badge. I'm not going to make a second one because of your mistake." She pushed the small rectangle of plastic across the desk and he picked it up, seeing that it said EILEEN. When he started to pin it on his right lapel she corrected him and told him it belonged on the left. He fixed it and sat there awkwardly, shifting around on the hard wooden chair. The woman's ID said her name was Claire. She ignored him while she shuffled papers and consulted her computer screen. Finally, she told him, "Looks like we hired one too many. And since you got here late, they may not want to keep you. But I'll start you at the bottom, with a variety of duties. You'll be on probation, so don't mess up. And remember that any of the women here can make a complaint and you'll be out the door." He nodded and mumbled his assent. She printed something on a small form and held it out to him. Allen took it and stood there, not speaking. "Well?" Claire said. "Can you read? Do you see what I wrote?" Allen belatedly looked at the work order and saw that he was supposed to report to a certain room. The company leased the entire floor, so there were plenty of locations where he could be sent. He nodded, his lank hair swaying, and turned away. She told his back, "I'll tell them you're coming." As he went out he heard her add, "What an imbecile." When Allen reached his destination, it turned out to be a large room full of secretaries working at computer terminals. One woman was walking around with an electric pad, checking up on something. She gave him a disapproving look and wagged her finger for him to come to her. "All right, Eileen," she said. "Actually, my name is..." "Your name is whatever is on that badge. Claire already told me that you're difficult... and not too bright. So, Eileen, you can start by emptying everyone's trash can. The maintenance closet is in the back of the room. There's a trash can there that you can carry around. Just dump everything into it. You can get that right, can't you... Eileen?" She was speaking loudly enough for everyone to hear and several of the young women were tittering at him. He muttered something in assent and went to get the can. It was waist high, pink, and covered with big flower stick-ons. Feeling foolish, Allen began his rounds. Somehow he had expected to be answering phones or typing information into computers, working his way up to customer relations and sales. This was a bad start. But he had to be on his best behavior to avoid getting dismissed. Feeling glum, he carried the receptacle with both arms wrapped around it, dumped a can and moved on. The girl he had just passed called him back. She took a gum wrapped and intentionally tossed it under her desk. "You missed that," she told him. His mouth opened and closed. He had better not say anything. Swallowing his pride, he got down on one knee and reached under her desk, noticing her shiny black heels and stocking clad lower legs. A whimper escaped his lips and she giggled. He dropped the wrapper into the can and continued. After several more cans had been emptied, one of the girls called him over. "Here you go," she said, holding up a strip of paper. "Let me tape this onto your badge." She had put the words 'the dunce' on it. When she taped it in place, under that mistaken name, he was identified as EILEEN THE DUNCE. The girl laughed at him and said, "Now tell everyone who it says you are." In a clear but unimpressive voice he said, "It says I'm... Eileen the dunce." There was a catch in his voice and they all picked up on the sign of weakness. Because their jobs were routine, they were always looking for distractions. Since they were young and lower level types, they could be mean when it suited them. So Allen was the perfect victim for any games they might play. "Hey, Eileen," another girl said. She was kind of overweight and wearing a tight sweater. "You didn't wear a tie to work. Don't you know the dress code? Oh, wait. Your name's Eileen so the men's rules don't apply to you. Has anybody got a pretty scarf our new worker can put on?" "Right here," said a rather butch looking female. "This was a gift and it's the sort of thing I would never wear. But for fruity Eileen it will be perfect. I don't want to get near her, though. Who'll help her put it on?" This time it was a sassy Black girl who responded. "I'll get it. Our new bitch Eileen will look soooo pretty in that." She took the scarf, which was swirled with loud candy colors, and made him come to her. Her name badge said BRENDA. She got so close that her thrusting bosom was almost touching him. He felt warm and started to lick his lips nervously. Brenda chuckled and leaned closer, so that their bodies made contact ever so slightly at chest level. Then she wrapped the gaudy scarf around his neck and tied it too tightly, making a complicated knot that he couldn't easily undo. Feeling more put upon that ever, he nevertheless thanked her, eager to win his way into the staff's good graces. She smirked at him and pushed him back toward his waiting trash can. He went on with his rounds, listening to softly spoken insults and taunts. One of the girls insisted on using lip gloss on his mouth. It was clear but impossible to miss. Another put a small bow in his hair over one ear. By the time he was done collecting trash, he looked and felt like a disgraced sissy. "Great job," Claire said, not sounding at all like she meant it. "Now just schlep that out of here and take it to the trash room." He whispered, "Yes, Ma'am," and with his head hung he went out into the corridor. But where was the trash room? He fingered his hair and his shoulders twitched. Everyone who saw him formed an immediate negative opinion about the new employee. The way he had been made to look, on top of his poorly chosen jacket and general appearance, would make it impossible for him to rise at all in the ranks. But he could see no alternative except to obey. He carried the can up and down the halls, giving lots of people an eyeful of himself, reluctant to ask for directions. At last he broke down and inquired. The woman told him to go to the top floor. When he tried to use the elevator, he was told he couldn't bring the refuse on board. So he went to the stairwell and walked the full receptacle up several flights of steps. Sweating profusely, his jacket disarranged, he searched for the trash room. "What are you doing?" a woman with grey streaks at her temples asked. He stammered out what he was trying to find. She scowled at him, called him a jackass, and said that the trash room was in the basement. He hurried back to the stairs, aware of how much time all this was taking, and had to rush all the way down with the bulky container. When he got below the first floor, there was the trash room. The fat man who showed him where to dump everything wanted to know why he hadn't taken the elevator. "I wasn't allowed to use it." "Not the regular one, dumbbell. There's a freight elevator. And why do you have a bow in your hair and that goo on your lips? Are you some kind of fag?" Allen hurried away without answering. When he got back to his starting point he found out he was in trouble for 'slacking off'. He tried to explain but the women just kept pointing out how stupid he had been. He gave up and agreed with them. They told him he was expected to do better the next day. He was given other menial tasks to perform, including polishing doorknobs, using a dustpan and brush to sweep along the bottoms of walls, and fetching office supplies that he had to take to various rooms. At the end of the day, on his way out he noticed a message posted on a corkboard. It said that there was an office party in the not too distant future. He decided that it would be his second chance. He would prove that he could be a regular guy when he attended the party. Once he was back on the street he paused again, as he had that morning, to steal looks into the nail salon. It would be nice to be in a place like that, surrounded by idle women who were having themselves made more appealing. He sighed and left. ********* The next day he arrived on time, determined to redeem himself. Unfortunately he got off to a bad start again. The woman who had sent him on his frustrating trash rounds the day before was waiting for him. He checked her name badge this time and saw that she was Tess. The first thing she did was to ask him why he had removed the note that one of the girls had put on his badge. He tried to talk his way through it but got tongue-tied. She made a sound of disgust and went to her desk, where she wrote something on a strip of paper, then told him to tape it over his name. He looked and saw that it said BRAIN-DEAD. His fingers trembled as he did what she had said. Then she ordered him to go from office to office, collecting the previous days end-of-shift reports. But before he could leave, she made him stop. Several of the other girls gathered around, as if by prearrangement. He wrung his hands in nervous anxiety while they talked to each other, as if he wasn't present, about how much of a lost cause he was. Then one of them took the lank hair along either side of his head and adroitly braided it, leaving him with a pair of embarrassing pigtails. Another girl took a colored marker and tinted the lenses of his glasses yellow. As if that didn't make him look foolish enough, a third girl got out a tube of lipstick and colored his mouth bright pink. Someone shoved him toward the door and he left with the sound of derisive laughter stinging his ears. As he got to each department he had to endure the amused comments, hoots of laughter, and cruel name-calling. The latter included sobriquets like Mary, candy pants, sissy stuff, limp dick, numb-nuts, ignoramus, dope, and the ever popular lamebrain. Anyone who had missed seeing him publicly shamed on his first day got an eyeful today. Girls shoved him and pulled his pigtails, and one of them tripped him, making Allen drop the reports all over the floor. Individual pages came out of the folders and he didn't know which ones they were from. Feeling miserable, he finished his rounds and returned to Tess. Under her critical gaze he had to mumble out an explanation about the mixed up pages, stumbling over his words as he went. "You really are a hopeless imbecile," she said without a trace of sympathy. "Now get your pretty floral trashcan and do what you did yesterday. Maybe after doing it once already, you can get it right and not spend half the day on such a simple job." He raced around with the can, the girls doing everything they could to make his task more difficult. They found heavy objects to put in their trash, intentionally upset cans just before he reached them so that he had to pick up loose trash by hand, and added smelly food to his load because they knew he was holding the can directly under his chin and had to inhale whatever was in it. By the end of his rounds he was humiliated and felt like he had been running in circles and getting nowhere. He went to the right elevator but was told that Tess was having it held for a possible emergency. So it was back to the stairs for the trip to the basement. As he passed the stockroom down there he was given several reams of computer paper to carry back up to Tess. It went on like that for the rest of his first week, with constant attention to his hair, which was always done in feminine styles and beribboned. But it was on the following Monday that things took a sharp turn for the worse. Claire made him fetch her a cup of coffee. When he brought it to her she started to take it and then accidently-on-purpose spilled the hot beverage on his shirt and down the front of his pants. When he got upset she announced loudly that he had pissed himself. That provoked waves of laughter and he just wanted to run away. Instead, she told him he would have to get out of his messy clothes. She even told him that there were some things into which he could change. He asked for the dry clothes so he could put them on in the men's room. She said haughtily, "Oh, really, Eileen. Why would you need the men's room? You're certainly not a man. Go and change in the girls' room." She reached under her desk and pulled out a rumpled paper bag. "Here're your new fashions." Upset and with everyone watching him, he went to the ladies' room and took off his stained clothes. He was shocked when Claire walked in and saw him in just his baggy boxer shorts. She pointed out that they were wet too and told him to strip completely. With his face bright pink, he turned away from her to remove his last article of clothing. Then he opened the bag and got another unpleasant surprise. Inside were nothing but girly clothes. There was a blouse with puffy sleeves and a big bow at the neck. And a very short pleated skirt. Plus stockings and Mary Jane shoes. Under everything else he found a pair of lacy bikini panties. Fighting back tears, knowing that his bare bottom was exposed to Claire, he hurried got into the skimpy panties. Then he rolled the stockings up his legs, got the skirt on, and squirmed into blouse without unbuttoning it. He stood there feeling utterly mortified while the bossy female checked him over, laughed at his ridiculous appearance, and put his hair up into ponytails at either side of his head. A smear of bright pink lipstick on his mouth and sloppily applied rouge on his cheeks finished the unwanted look. Now when he went out onto the work floor he was greeted with howls of laughter. He had to go from desk to desk, raising his brief skirt at each one to display his panties. Everyone could see that, at his crotch there was no manly bulge but just a little bump. Then he was sent to all the other departments with a box of paperclips to see if anyone needed some. It was a fool's errand meant to give everyone a gander of his effeminate clothes. Girls in each department found pointless jobs for him to do, especially ones that had him down on the floor with their small feet and sexy legs almost in his face. He was becoming more and more caught up in the sexiness of their lower extremities. It was turning into an addiction. He thought again about that nail salon downstairs and how nice it would be to work there, maybe even to give pedicures. In his skirt and blouse he was a complete laughingstock. Claire decreed that he would dress in girly fashions every day. "After all," she said in front of the other girls, "you're more girl than guy, Eileen. So all of us will bring in whatever we have lying around at home that we don't want, and you will have your own sissy wardrobe. Won't that be nice for you?" He looked pathetic as he said, "Yes, Claire. Thank you, Ma'am." "You're welcome, pea-brain. And come to me every morning so I can give you a new label for your name badge. It's important to identify you as an idiot so no one accidently assigns you any challenging work. All you're really good for is to be made fun of and dressed up. Don't you agree?" Allen wanted to tell her otherwise but instead just hung his head and whispered, "Yes, Claire. I'm stupid, Ma'am." But to himself he made a promise to find a way to prove differently. The next day he had to wear tight jeans and a clinging sleeveless top. At lunchtime a bunch of the girls took him to the employee locker room and shoved him into the shower to get drenched. When he came staggering out, dripping wet, several of them plugged in hair dryers and aimed them at him. Soon he was almost dry but, at the same time, his jeans had shrunk until they looked like they were painted onto his skinny legs. A girl teased up his hair and put it into a dozen tiny bows so that there were twelve tassels sticking out in all directions. A slash of blue lipstick when onto his upper lip and a similarly applied streak of red onto his lower. Looking like a girl with no sense of how to present herself, he was sent around the offices, this time with a box of rubber bands. He stewed over the latest insults all that evening. When he came into work the next day he knew what he was going to do. Before they gave him his girl's clothes to change into, he went to the front of the room and stood before Claire's desk. Allen said loudly to her, "I'm tired of being treated like I'm not a guy. I am a guy." He unfastened his pants and pulled them down to mid-thigh. His boxer shorts followed. He glared at her and said, "You can see what I have between my legs. That makes me a man. Do you have one of those?" She peered where he indicated, then squinted her eyes. "That little thing down there? Of course I have one of those. Every girl has a clitoris. Isn't that what you're showing me? It's hard to tell because it's so tiny. Just a little pink worm." Claire came around from behind her desk. Allen was unsettled by what she had said. He hadn't ever thought of himself as... inadequate... down there. Now he suddenly felt stripped of the manhood he believed was his. She took him firmly by his narrow shoulders and spun him around, so that he was facing the whole room. The girls erupted into gales of laughter, followed by a volley of cutting remarks. "Look at that. Instead of a dick he has an extra fingertip. A pinky fingertip." "I've never seen one so small. That belongs on a newborn." "He could never satisfy a woman with that. It's nothing but a joke." Allen felt about two inches tall... because he was about two inches long. He cowered before their scathing comments and sniffled loudly. Claire made him remove his pants completely. She prepared a sign that said 'mini-micro-dick' and taped it to the front of his shirt, then drew an arrow on it pointing downward at his miniscule member. That triggered still more laughter and derision. She took him by the ear and marched him up and down the aisles between desks, so everyone could get a close- up look at his extreme shortcoming. After that he was given his clothing for the day and sent to the ladies' room to change. When he got there, one of the girls was just entering. She went to one of the booths and opened the door. "Hey," she said sharply. "I want some privacy. Get down on your knees and put your nose against the floor, so I know you're not peeping, you scrawny sissy pervert. Go on. Do it." Still naked from the waist down, he sank to his knees and kept going until his nose touched the rather unclean floor. The girl closed the stall door and sat. Allen turned his eyes sideways and was treated to a view of her feet, shod in pretty shoes with block heels and ankle straps. Her panties descended and lay bunched around her slim ankles. In spite of himself he got a straining erection. It felt so good. He might not be manly enough to attract girls, but he could feel real excitement from gazing at their feet and dreaming about touching them, along with their attractive shoes. He touched himself, careful not to get overexcited and make a mess. When she came out of the stall she gave him a kick in the bare thigh and told him to stay there until she had gone. He didn't mind that it hurt to get kicked; he was just excited that he had been touched by her gorgeous shoe. After she left he got up and checked to see what he would be wearing. There were a pair of gym bloomers and a matching top, along with knee socks and colorful athletic shoes. He got into all that, checked himself in the mirror, and saw how absurd he appeared. But he had no other choice. He would have to work the rest of the day in that disgraceful outfit. Also, there was something else in the bottom of the bag. When he pulled it out he was surprised to see that it was a baby bottle. What was the meaning of that? Not wanting to get himself into trouble, he took it to Claire. "Um, excuse me," Allen said meekly. She looked at him and could barely suppress a laugh. "What is it, genius?" "I... Well, this was in with my clothes. I guess it was a mistake, it being in the bag and..." "It was no mistake, Eileen," she said acerbically. "That's for your lunch from now on. You've been making too much of a mess in the break room. Crumbs and spilled soda all over the place." She glowered at him, daring the weak-willed young man to disagree. He hung his head guiltily, even though he didn't remember leaving the break room messy. She went on, "So I or one of the other women will bring something in for you each day. It will be in a bottle with your name on it. All you have to do is pour it into your baby bottle and drink it up. Yum-yum. I know you're about as slow-in-the-head as a person can be, but I guess you can manage a simple task like that. Right?" He nodded. She finished with, "Then you can go and see what's in there for you right now, dim-wit." He walked to the break room and, on the way, several girls made snide remarks about his clothes. 'Trying out for the girls' field hockey team, Eileen?' 'Are you giving up on trying to pass for a guy?' 'Hey, geek, are you going to sneak into the girls' locker room and sniff their dirty socks?' In the break room he opened the fridge and there was his liquid lunch. It was a big bottle labelled WIMP. He opened it and took and experimental sniff. Whatever Claire had put in there smelled foul. He fumbled with the top of the baby bottle, got it unscrewed, and poured in a full helping of the mystery drink. When he went back onto the work floor carrying the baby bottle he was showered with new insults. 'Is there a laxative in there, jerk, to clean out your brain?' 'I guess that's the closest you'll ever get to having a girl's tit in your mouth.' 'Awww, is baby Eileen having her widdle bot-bot?' He kept sucking at the unpleasant beverage until he had forced himself to drink it all. As soon as he was finished, however, Claire spotted him and told him to go right back and fill it up again. While he was doing that he calculated that there was still enough in the big bottle for several refills. He already felt queasy. What would it be like after he had swallowed the full amount? Allen tried to think of something that would make him feel better, despite the unrelenting mistreatment he received. The one thing that came to mind was that upcoming office party. Of course. If he could just think of the right girl to hook up with for the event, it would make all the difference in the world. Then it came to him. There was that quiet girl who worked as a personal secretary for one of men on the next floor up, away from the others. Her name was Marcy. She never saw him in his shameful girl clothes, read his demeaning name badges, or heard the derisive remarks that were made to him. He would invite her. That would show his female co-workers that he could find a date for the party. After the day was done and he had gotten back into his male clothes, Allen snuck upstairs, hoping to find Marcy before she left. Sure enough, she was just leaving her boss's corner office. Allen walked toward her, almost tripping over his own feet. He wrung his hands as he smiled. She gave him a quizzical look. Allen said, "I... um... work on the next floor down and... er... we're having a party on Friday. I was wondering if... uh... you would like to come." Marcy was tall and blond, a few pounds overweight but with the extra pounds all in her bust and hips and thighs. She shrugged and told him, "Sure, I'll be there." "Oh. Great. Good. I mean, yes. Thank you." He couldn't stem the torrent of gratitude. "Really. Thanks a lot. Urh... I'll see you there." "Whatever," she said and walked past him. He watched her round bottom rolling as she departed. And she had on such eye-catching shoes, red ones with spike heels. He sighed and began thinking about what he would wear to the event. This was really going to be terrific. When the time came he was dressed in a silly schoolgirl outfit, with a white blouse that had a floppy neck-bow, a plaid wrap-around skirt, thick knee socks, and penny loafers. He hurried to the ladies' room to change. There were two girls inside, smoking and gossiping. They made him change in front of them, all the while mocking his unimpressive physique and especially his silly looking boy parts. He did his best to ignore them as he got into shirt and slacks, adding a bright red vest that he was sure would make everyone look twice. He checked his shoes, which he had polished the night before, and then ran a comb through his bodiless hair. Pushing his glasses back up his nose, he headed for the section of the office where the party was. When he got there he spotted Marcy on the far side of the room. As he crossed toward her someone made a joke about him being a waiter. He didn't understand until someone else said something similar, mentioning his vest. Allen realized that it made him look like a server. It was too late to do anything about that. He got close to Marcy and gave her a wave. "Hello," he said, loud enough for everyone around him to hear. Girls and their dates turned in his direction. "I'm really glad you accepted my invitation. We're going to have a really good time, you and me, Marcy." She looked at him and her expression suggested that she smelled something awful. Coming toward her was a tall man with broad shoulders. He handed Marcy a drink and she leaned forward to kiss him. To the handsome guy she said, "That twerp over there with the stringy hair thinks I'm here to be with him. Can you believe that? He must be a total asshole to think that. What would someone like ME want with a mistake like HIM?" Everyone within earshot heard her. Several of them started telling her about Allen and how he was called Eileen, made to wear girl's clothes, and treated like dirt. She laughed and so did her date. Allen looked like a balloon animal with a slow leak as his newfound confidence drained away. He sagged and hugged himself. Marcy said she wanted to see him in his girly attire and someone went and got a bunch of the items they kept around for him. He had to strip down right there while he was blasted with catcalls and hooting. Allen got naked and endured a round of laughing abuse directed at his tiny genitals. Then he got into a mixed batch of girl fashions -- sparkly top with spaghetti straps, tutu, orange leggings, flip-flops with plastic flowers on them -- and had to spend the rest of the evening going around and fetching drinks for people while they treated him like a lowly flunky. On Monday when he came to work, they were still thinking up rotten things to say to him. His name badge was made to say BIG LOSER. Then he was told to go to the ladies' room to change, and then to the break room to fill his bottle. When he got to his second destination he found a picture of himself taped to the fridge. It had been taken at the party and showed him struggling to get into a pair of panties while people pointed at him and grinned nastily. It was stuck on a large sheet of paper, at the top of which was printed, LOSER OF THE MONTH. There was always a WINNER OF THE MONTH on the official bulletin board and this showed how far he was from every attaining that honor. Under the embarrassing photo were the words CHUMP, BIRDBRAIN, LIMP-DICK and BUTTHEAD. When he came out of the break room, wearing a belly shirt and miniskirt, someone put a big bow on top of his head and told him to go to Claire's desk. He moved to the front of the room, where she was waiting for him. With everyone watching, she reached into her desk drawer and produced a wrapped package. "Here you go, Eileen," she said. "This is for being the LOSER OF THE MONTH. Open it up, fish-face." He struggled with the simple task, at last getting the paper off and opening the box. Inside was a simple block puzzle intended for a child. Claire announced to everyone that, because he couldn't perform the easiest of jobs, this was to help him develop some skills so that maybe they could let him do something other than look foolish and make them laugh. The girls crowded around and he noticed that they were all carrying markers. Suddenly someone was holding him while another of them wrote across his forehead. There were words printed on his bare arms and exposed stomach, even on his uncovered legs. They didn't let him go until they were satisfied that every space worth using was covered. He was shoved toward the exit and told to go check himself in the girls' room mirror. When Allen got there he was distressed to see what was written all over him. There were weakling and wussy and wimp boy. He saw weenie and teeny and dickless. That cute girl from England, Britt, who wore glossy leather boots, had written on his thigh. Surely she couldn't have been mean to him. But her word was poofter. There were also simpleton and buffoon, two that he didn't understand, but he was pretty sure they were both bad. Allen sighed as he stood there staring at his ridiculous outfit and the insults written on every inch of bare skin. Just then the bathroom door burst open and in rushed a half dozen females, laughing and pointing. Someone threw a drink in his face and another of them smashed a piece of cake, with plenty of icing, in his hair. "What an absolute freak you are, Eileen," Tess exclaimed. "If you weren't so entertaining, we wouldn't even keep you around." That was how the party ended for him. No date but plenty of abuse and mortification. They didn't even let him have his own clothes back. He had to take a late bus looking the way he did, with all the other riders staring at him and shaking their heads in disapproval. What could he do? Well, he had one last hope. On Saturday morning, all cleaned up, Allen went to that nail salon at street level and, in his halting and less-than-confident way, asked if he could apply for a job. To his surprise, he was accepted on the spot. He started to say something about giving pedicures but the woman in charge, Allison, cut him off. She explained that the guy who used to have the job had gotten himself into some sort of legal trouble and could no longer work there. Allison was pretty but in a flashy and domineering way. And she was early middle-aged. Quite imposing. So he backed off and didn't try to say anything else. Instead, he got right into his duties, which included fetching supplies, cleaning up the floor and... taking him back to where he had started upstairs... emptying trash cans. Still, he was close to all the attractive female customers and could steal glances at their eye-catching footwear. He was thrilled to find that whenever one of them wanted a pedicure it was his job to take her shoes and put them on a rack while she had her lower extremities pampered. His small slender hands caressed each shoe as he carried it. In spite of himself he kept getting erections. Luckily, because his dick was so tiny, his arousal didn't show. There was a fancy lavatory for the customers, which the female employees used as well. But for him there was only a toilet enclosure the size of a cramped closet, back in the storeroom. He fantasized about sneaking in there with one of those desirable shoes and having it all to himself, in private, while he did whatever he pleased with the purloined footwear... and to himself. Allen made the mistake of bragging to one of the young women in the office upstairs that he had gotten the job. The word spread immediately and soon all the girls were mocking him about his new employment. They began to go to the salon on Saturdays to get manicures and such, telling the women there about him. Soon he was having his hair fussed with and his clothes substituted for with female garments. His co-workers from upstairs mocked him and before long his situation in the salon was as bad as it was in the office. He was disheartened but consoled himself by focusing more and more on feet and shoes. Some of the women picked up on his fetishistic attitude, which he thought he was hiding. They began to dangle shoes from their toes to distract him. Then they started wearing extra sexy and even kinky shoes and boots. He was enraptured and his imaginings of playing with those shoes in the undersized 'boys room' increased until they were all he could think about. So on his next Saturday, when he got to take a pair of especially seductive shoes to the rack -- they were two-toned and looked Victorian - - he hugged one of them to his belly and slipped into the narrow restroom. Allen dropped his skirt and panties and sat on the toilet, fondling the shoe, smelling it, and touching himself with his other hand. He quickly got one of his miniature erections. His eyes closed and his head went back. He was in ecstasy. Unfortunately for him, several of the women had seen this event coming. So they crept after him and, when they heard him begin to breath hard, flung open the door and caught him in that shameful act. He squealed and reached for the door, falling onto his knees. They looked down on him, at first sneering, and then laughing cruelly. He got so upset that he began to sob. Allison appeared and the others stepped aside to let her see his humiliating situation. She was furious and called him every name in the book, including pervert, creep, weirdo, and sicko. He cowered before her and endured her tirade in silence. Then she told him that she was going to pay a visit to his workplace on Monday morning and tell his boss what had happened. He didn't want Claire to know about his but saw the hopelessness of protesting. Allen hung his head and said he understood. She snatched the shoe away from him and inspected it. "Well," Allison concluded. "At least you didn't have time to squirt your disgusting spunk all over it." She told him he would continue to work there, but not be paid. The angry woman spat on him, turned, and strode away. The remaining girls taunted him about how much trouble he was in. Allen spent the rest of the weekend in torment, stressing over what was to come. On Monday morning he had to crawl around with his dustpan and brush, cleaning under desks where girls were sitting. He had on an open vest and a micro-miniskirt with nothing under them. His pale scrawny bottom was shown off and he had to listen to cutting remarks about it. Then Claire summoned him to the front of the room and told everyone to stop working. Allen stood there like a misbehaving schoolboy... or girl. His boss said, "Eileen has done something terrible." She went on to describe in embarrassing detail what had happened at the salon two days before. Allen listened, shamefaced, wringing his hands and shifting his feet. "So," the woman in charge went on, "she is being demoted. There are quite a few lavatories in our suite of offices and, from now on, it will be her main job to clean them. Whenever one of you goes in there, she will get down on her knees -- if she's not already there -- and press her nose to the floor. This is what happens to naughty little sex addicts like her." After waiting a moment for that to sink in, she concluded, "And if any of you want to punish her personally, you may do whatever you deem necessary. Of course, because it will be in the women's toilets, there are some obvious ways you could do that." Soft laughter and urgent whispering filled the room. Allen had to stay where he was, pulling down on the front of that inadequate skirt and rubbing his bony knees together. It was so awful to be dressed in girly items every day, especially because his tormentors kept selecting the most demeaning clothing they could find. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. His life just kept getting worse and worse. Even so, he told himself, whenever he was kneeling in one of the lavatories, nose on the floor, he could peek under the stall doors and see all those tempting shoes. And if he was careful, he could get away with some quick wanking. Some people never learn. Especially losers like Allen.