A Nightmare In Silk And Lace 5 free porn video

A Nightmare in Silk and Lace pt 5 by Cordellian (Dedicated to the lovely Annabel Barnes who has never failed to remind me to complete this story each and every time we've met at some dinner party or other...) 'Taking good care of our sissy' is the way Marina and Claire liked to describe it. They smiled at one another as Dean screamed, which he always did when the hard jet of cold water hit his skin. Coming so soon after the hot water from the shower, the shock was extreme to say the least, but positioned as he was, standing on tip-toes in the shower wet room with his wrists handcuffed and the chain threaded through a steel ring screwed into the ceiling, he was in no position to do anything about it. Marina, who had changed the temperature on the shower unit, laughed at Dean's hysterical outburst. Like Claire, Marina was dressed in her bra and panties, more for the effect it would have on Dean than for anything else. They were both sexy young women and they knew the effect their bodies had on him, owing to the fact that he had in the past used his senior position within the company to coerce both of them at differing times to have sex with him. Not that either of them had really classed the events in the past as 'sex' on account of the psychological coercion and the admittedly small appendage between Dean's legs. "Is it a bit cold, Deanna?" laughed Claire as she saw Dean's stiff erection suddenly subside. Down it dropped, physically wilting as his balls retreated up into their cavities to escape the freezing chill of the shower jet. This was the bit they loved the most when they were 'taking good care of their sissy'. Apart from being fun, it was also the most effective way of shrinking Dean's unavoidable erection to a limp size that could easily be squeezed back into its tight chastity sheath. Claire turned the water jet off as Marina softly patted Dean's loins dry with a big fluffy pink towel. "Oh, it's soooo horrible, isn't it? Shrinking away from your impressive four and a bit inches when stiff to that teensy weensy little small one you have now." She sprinkled some perfumed White Musk body powder over the timid looking penis and gently patted it dry before sliding the restraining sheath back over it and pulling the thing back between Dean's legs. "Please, no..." he whimpered as he twisted helplessly in the handcuffs. "Leave it off just for a few more minutes... just a few more minutes..." "Nonsense," said Claire as she slapped his buttocks hard with a wet towel. Dean squealed and jumped, only just managing to land back on his tip toes. His leg muscles were visibly trembling from the effort of barely, just barely managing to balance his weight on the tiled floor of the wet room. "We don't want that pathetic little thing wiggling around any longer than it has to. You'll probably catch it in a door frame or something and do yourself an injury. Much safer all round if we tuck it up between your legs again where it belongs. Honestly, it's so small I'm surprised you didn't hide it away in shame before you even became a sissy. If I was a man I wouldn't want a couple of smoking hot girls like us to see it." Both girls giggled as they stood there in their underwear. The facts of the matter were these. Now that Deanna had been promoted to the role of Trainee Junior Assistant Personal Assistant (on probation) for Layton Solutions (a newly devised subsidiary of Prentice Industries, established by Mr Charles Grimm of Amalgamated Amalgamations for the sole purpose of completing due diligence on his proposed share acquisition), Deanna had been eligible for a room share in one of the corporate owned apartments available to the secretarial pool girls. Of course Deanna had objected and pointed out to Gemma Layton that he had a perfectly good luxury townhouse in the brownstone area of New York's Manhattan, but she quickly tut-tutted that suggestion. "Oh, Mr Prentice, how would it look if a Trainee Junior Assistant Personal Assistant (on probation) was seen to be coming and going from the Managing Director's luxury building day after day, all giggles, short skirts and skittish behaviour? You know how quickly gossip gets round the typing pool. You don't want to be thought of as an easy floozy, do you? Not as 'one of those kind of girls...' Because the other girls will think you're a cheap loose slut who opens her legs for the Managing Director, and believe me they will give you such a hard time if they think that, that you'll be running to the water cooler in tears every few hours. Girls in the typing pool can be such bitches when they think that one of their own is trying to sleep her way to the top." "But I'm not sleeping my way to the top! I don't want to take a room in a shared flat! I'm not really a girl!" "Well obviously that is something of a problem. I mean, you can't hide your true sex for long in such circumstances, so what I propose is I find two lovely girlie flat mates who can be trusted not to gossip, and I'll let them into your little secret. I won't tell them everything of course, about how you insulted that nice Mr Grimm, and if he knew who you really were he'd ruin both you and the company, because frankly the less people who know, the better. So no, what I'll tell them is that you secretly love dressing as a girl and you've dreamt of living as one for years now, and you've decided to give it a go in secret, and if they keep your secret there will be big bonuses in it for them." "You're not going to tell them my actual name though, are you?" "Oh Mr Prentice, but of course I'll have to! You silly girl. I can't tell them half the story, can I? Why, they'd only go and find out on their own once you were living with them so it's best to just go with full disclosure from the outset, that way we can get them to sign a binding contract not to divulge that information, you see? That way you don't have to worry about them telling anyone. But if we didn't say up front and if we didn't get them to sign a confidentiality clause, why then you'd be in real trouble if they guessed the truth and with nothing to stop them, told everyone in your company. Do you see?" "I suppose so... but... but..." "Oh, Mr Prentice, you do look so cute with your mouth hanging open like that, in your ditzy little short skirt and heels. Why, I bet the men in the office are going mad for you?" "Don't say that!" Dean shrank a little at the memory of all those firm masculine hands touching his bottom on the first day. It had been horrible. So many hands groping him. So many hands... But things had taken a real turn for the worse when Deanna had arrived at her new home and had been introduced to her new flat mates, both of whom had been briefed in advance that he was in actual fact their Managing Director, Dean Prentice. "Marina!" he said in shock as he stared at Marina Richards, a stunning dark haired secretary that he had once coerced into sleeping with him against her better judgement. "Claire!" he said in even more shock as he saw the beautiful red-headed secretary, Claire Edwards, that he had coerced into sleeping with him against her better judgement, after he had grown bored with Marina. "Oh my God!" said Marina and Claire in unison as they tried to suppress their total hysterical joy at seeing their sexist boss standing there in what could only be described as a like, totally slutty office uniform, yeah? "This is brilliant!" said Marina as she clapped her hands together in delight. "Oh, it is, totally so. Fucking yeah," added Claire as they began to imagine just how good this was going to be for them both. Gemma had left them with the parting instructions to 'take good care of your sissy,' and as an after thought handed the girls the keys to Dean's corset and chastity sheath. "He'll need these in the morning so that he can have a shower," she explained. "We'll see to that, Miss Layton, don't you worry," said Marina with an innocent smile. And so they did, for each morning began with Dean's shower routine. He had of course spent the night in his frilly baby doll nightie, soft silken panties and light bra-let, still cruelly locked into the tight corset and snap lock chastity sheath attachment that the girls insisted he continued to wear 24/7. His alarm clock would go off at 5.30, which was the signal to jump out of bed, slip a silky soft peignoir over his body, slide his feet into his cute pink pom pom adorned mule slippers, and hurry into the kitchen to prepare breakfast for Marina and Claire. While they were eating it, Dean would be expected to slip into his pink aerobics leotard and perform a series of yoga exercises to keep his body slim, toned and feminine. Marina and Claire would giggle as they ate their breakfast, offering words of encouragement as Dean went through a strict dance based work out under their watchful eyes. It was producing marvellous results for his figure. His arms and legs had lost what traces of male muscle he once had and they now resembled smooth, supple, female limbs. Not surprisingly as the workout was designed to tone a woman's body, not a man's. "We haven't forgotten your bullying sexist ways, Missy," said Claire on that first night when Dean, trembling, realised who the two girls were that Gemma had told his secret to. She couldn't of course have known that she had by chance selected two girls that Dean had in the past bullied into his bed, abusing his power and position to get what he wanted. There was no way Gemma could have known that, otherwise she of course would never have selected them as his flat mates... After his strict exercise regime, under the watchful gaze of both girls, Dean would strip down in the wet room to his corset and chastity sheath and, standing in the shower cubicle, his hands would be fastened in a pair of army surplus handcuffs which had been threaded through a steel ring that the girls had securely fitted to the ceiling with a drill and heavy duty screws. The suspension was such that Dean could barely stay balanced on his tip toes. Then came the fun part, even for Dean at first, for the girls would disappear only to re-emerge in their provocative silken underthings - the sweetest, sexiest, skimpiest Brazilian panties and bras and, with squeals of delight, they would then produce the keys to unlock Dean's corset and chastity sheath. After wearing them both for 24 hours, the relief was exquisite. After having been trapped for so long, Dean's penis would always spring to attention, especially at the inadvertent touch of the two girls who would make quite a thing of unlocking the various clasps of the corset. Having worn the corsetry for several weeks now, Dean's body had finally succumbed to the inevitable and was now reshaping itself around his waist to accommodate the near permanent shape wear. To Claire and Marina's delight, Dean's body retained the girlish curves of a slim waist and rounded hips when the corset came off. What was once restrictive in giving him a 26 inch waist could now after several weeks reduce him further to 24 inches. "We're going to keep going until we reach the magic number 22," said Claire with a giggle as she lifted the corset away. It was really amazing how feminine Dean looked even without the corset. His body now had the permanent features forced upon it from the corset training, adding to the illusion. His long platinum blonde hair of course gave him the look of a girl, as did his permanently adhered long french nails. Hoop earrings hung in each pierced ear. The girls had on the first night superglued the attachments in place. Then came the warm to hot water and this part was achingly good as the girls soaped Dean's body and, cooing seductively, washed him in the torrent of water, being careful not to touch his rigid cock except very occasionally and even then seemingly by accident. It was exquisite torment and the girls delighted in the way a moaning and blissful Dean would twist and turn in vain to try and rub his own penis between his thighs, only to be thwarted each time by the girls who would never permit any such position to occur. "Thighs apart!" they would squeal as any attempt to squeeze his cock between his thighs would be met by sharp switches and a caning on his bare bottom. "Naughty girl!" they would say, and oh, how Dean would howl then and quickly behave himself, to the sound of further laughter from the delighted girls. Only when he was thoroughly clean would the girls switch the water suddenly to ice cold to remove the symptoms of his arousal in anticipation of reattaching the chastity sheath. "There, all snugly locked up again. Now for the corset," said Marina cheerfully as she towelled him dry. Dean hung there, moaning - he so needed an orgasm - just the one - just the once. "Well, well, I never dreamed that I'd have Dean Prentice dressed up as a girl in front of me. How long has this been going on" asked Marina as she sat down on an armchair on the first night that they had spent together. "Miss Layton says you're a closet sissy who has fantasised about living as a girl?" "Yes..." What could Dean do but go along with the pretence. There was no other way to explain his current appearance except for the truth, and Gemma was right - no one could be told of the subterfuge for fear of Mr Grimm of Amalgamated Amalgamations finding out. The re-financing deal was too close to completion to possibly risk it being scuppered like that. "I love dressing as a girlie girl," said Dean with dismay, reciting the words Gemma had told him to say. "Wow," said Claire. "You really do look good. We'd never have known. Are those real breasts?" She poked one of Dean's C-cup tits and giggled as it moved just like a real one would. Dean simply nodded and sank his head in shame, for it was true, he, Dean Prentice, cocky geezer and pick-up artist supreme had a pair of genuine C-cup breasts. "My God they are real tits!" said Marina as she unbuttoned Dean's blouse and pulled the lacy white bra down to expose the right hand cup. The clinic had done an excellent job. Now Dean's ultra-sensitive nipples swelled out on the peaks of two fully rounded girl breasts. These implants, combined with the corset training meant he now had an extremely feminine body, even without the aid of any support garments Only his small penis remained as evidence of his true sex, and that was always locked away between his legs to give him a smooth panty line. "We're going to have so much fun with you here. For a start you're going to do everything we say, or we'll tell all the other girls in the typing pool who you really are." "You can't do that," said Dean with conviction. "You signed non- disclosure documents." "We did what?" said Claire, confused. "The documents Gemma got you to sign..." "I have no idea what you're talking about. Gemma didn't give us any documents." Dean's mouth fell open in dismay. That fucking incompetent, forgetful, useless personal assistant of his! Gemma had forgotten to get them to sign anything? --------------------------------------------------- The beautiful and immaculately attired Charlotte Prentice, wife of the strangely missing Dean Prentice, could think of nothing but sex this afternoon. Try as she might, no matter how much she fidgeted in her office and tried to concentrate her mind on loft business matters that she didn't really understand, sex was her overriding concern. It was her particular curse that her inability to become deeply aroused without the benefit of reading was complimented by a vivid and active imagination that left her fantasising about filthy, dirty sex constantly. The fantasies could be kept at bay provided she enjoyed regular intercourse - and in this her Puerto Rican gardener had been a Godsend - but with Raoul still several days away from returning from holiday, Charlotte was close to being driven mad by the desire to be fucked. She sat in her private office surrounded by discarded erotica paperbacks that she had bought in bulk from a local supermarket. None of them were any good without a hard cock sliding in and out of her wet sex. But the cock in itself was useless without a book, and few men would consent to her reading over their shoulders while they penetrated her. Even if they did, even fewer men were able to last the distance required to read several chapters to get to the really good bits. Raoul was that rare thing - a man who only climaxed when told to. Outside her private office the business of due diligence and formulating alternative business plans continued with conveyor belt like regularity. Girls wearing old fashioned girdles walked backwards and forwards holding tan coloured manilla folders while other girls sat at their typewriters click-click-clicking away at the Qwerty keys. None of it mattered to Charlotte Prentice, because none of it was going to give her a much needed orgasm. She had recently and most unexpectedly of course discovered an alternative that would make her similarly aroused - being dominated and spanked by Mr Charles Grimm's powerful Russian PA, Elizabeta, but the conditions Elizabeta had set for doing so again had been far too demeaning for someone as important and dignified as Mrs Charlotte Prentice to even consider. And yet... to her embarrassment she had bought some new clothes two days ago, and for two days she had glanced repeatedly at the plastic laundry bag hanging from her coat rack. Inside the bag was a short black skirt, suitable for secretaries, and a diaphanous white blouse, tight fitting around the midriff. A pair of glossy four inch heeled shoes sat in a box under her desk. These were the clothes she had been told to wear if she was to ever approach Elizabeta again. "I'm not going to wear any of it," thought Charlotte to herself. "I'm not! I'm not! Raoul is back in three days, fourteen hours, and twenty seven minutes." Charlotte had a timer programme running on her computer counting down the minutes until her virile and compliant gardner was back. It didn't display the number of seconds remaining of course. That would be obsessive. "I can hold out that long, I can." Charlotte's mobile suddenly burst into life with the musical tune, 'Murder on the Dance Floor'. "Charlotte Prentice. Yes?" she said into the phone. "Mrs Prentice, it's Raoul." His voice was unmistakably masculine, but it sounded far away. The poor reception of the mobile was made worse by a factor of distance and the primitive broadcasting equipment in Puerto Rico. "Raoul, honey, how's your holiday? Bet you're dying to come home, hmm? I've been missing Mr Stiffy. Really missing him..." Charlotte purred her most seductive purr as she spoke into the phone. "I bought some new lingerie last week. White and silky with a silly amount of lace. I know you're going to love..." "Mrs Prentice, please to listen. please. There has been accident most serious!" Raoul's voice sounded a little bit unfocussed. "Raoul?" "I am in hospital. I was hit by car and run over. Both my legs are broken." "What?" "They give me lots of morphine, so I may sound sleepy when I talk." "What?!" "Doctors, they say I cannot go home for several weeks. I am so sorry about state of pretty lawn." "Fuck the fucking lawn, Raoul!" Charlotte was on her feet now, panic setting in to her perfect features. "I need some cock! Several weeks? I can't wait several weeks!" "Mrs Prentice?" Raoul had never heard Mrs Prentice sound like this before. She almost sounded... desperate. "Can't you just get on a plane anyway? It's only a couple of silly broken legs. You'll be fine," she cooed seductively. "The doctor he say I have broken pelvis too. And hips. Very bad." "Is that a problem? It's not as if you need to stand while you're on the plane. They have seats you know." "I'm really in a lot of pain, Mrs Prentice." "No pain, no gain, isn't that what everyone says? I'll let you pick whatever underwear you'd like me to wear. Anything at all, Raoul, you name it." "I really don't feel like sex right now, Mrs Prentice. I'm really hurting... one of my arms was also fractured." "God, Raoul, don't you ever think of anyone but yourself? Whine, whine, moan, moan. It's not as if you have to do much more than lie on top of me and thrust in and out for two to three hours. How difficult can that be? Raoul? Hello? Raoul?" The line was suddenly dead. "Shit!" Charlotte threw her mobile at the nearby wall in frustration. Wha the hell was she going to do now? "Spoilt little rich girl." Elizabeta looked up as Charlotte walked quietly into the Russian PA's room. Elizabeta's skin glistened with a thin sheen of sweat as she juggled Olympic size kettle bells from one hand to another in a series of seemingly effortless swings and cleans. There was hardly an ounce of fat on her lean, firmly toned body. Charlotte could see that clearly enough as Elizabeta wore nothing more than an Executive pin-striped sports bra and thong. "You look pretty," added Elizabeta as her eyes feasted on Charlotte. "Um, thank you." This was awkward. Charlotte's eyes were drawn to the wooden stocks and the sleek whip that hung loosely from a peg above the wooden frames. There were loose chains hanging from several other hooks in the PA's glossy black and chrome office. "Tight white blouse and slut skirt suit you very much. Make strong healthy Russian woman excited." She paused halfway through a series of ten reps and dropped her kettle bells onto a rubber mat. For it was true. Charlotte had, reluctantly of course, changed into the demeaning office uniform that all the typists in the secretarial pool were obliged to wear. "I..." How could Charlotte say it? How could she admit she desperately needed sexual relief the only other way possible now that Raoul was in hospital for possibly a month or two? "Hush. Not say anything. I know why you here." Elizabeta was suddenly standing in front of Charlotte, one hand on her tight ass, pushing her forward as their lips met in a savage, almost brutal kiss. When Charlotte was allowed to break free and come up for air, she felt flushed and excited. She had never been kissed like that before - so powerful, so dominant and aggressive! There were butterflies in her stomach and a warm glow forming between her legs. Yes! This would do the trick! This would give her the much needed orgasm! "Please..." her voice sounded breathless. "I need..." "Later. First you go see Kissy and ask to be put to work in Secretarial Slut pool." "What?!" "You hear. Office busy. Deadlines come soon. Too many stupid bimbos at typewriters making uselesss clack-clack-clackity-clack noises. You work with other secretaries this afternoon and then after we have much fun. Yes?" Elizabeta patted Charlotte's ass. "But I'm an Executive Director!" Charlotte stamped her foot in outrage. Elizabeta just laughed. The spoilt little rich girl was so funny sometimes. ----------------------------------------------------------------- Deanna glanced up from her typing and stared, hardly believing her eyes. Charlotte, Dean's wife, stood there looking lost and more than just a little bit nervous. Her long legs stretched from the short hemline of a secretarial skirt to the sexy ankle straps of the glossy black heels. The tightly buttoned white blouse displayed the lush curves of her breasts and fully exposed the deep valley between each suckable breast. What on earth had happened to her? "Attention please, girls!" Kissy stood beside Charlotte, clapping her hands together for everyone's attention. As one the girls all looked up from their work. "This is Charlotte," Kissy motioned towards the Executive Director who now looked indistinguishable from any one of the girls in the typing pool. "Charlotte will be helping out with our work today, so I want you to make her feel welcome. You know how difficult it can be when you're new in an office, so please be patient if she has to ask some silly airhead questions." The girls all eyed Charlotte with a mixture of surprise (for of course they recognised who she was) and delight. If there was one thing that united them it was a mutual desire to see the high and mighty come crashing down to their level. A buzz of excitement ran through the office staff as Charlotte blushed and tried her best not to meet any of their gazes. Kissy was business like and very managerial as she led Mrs Prentice through the giggling throng. "Not a word," said Charlotte as she at down at the desk next to Deanna, smoothing the back of her short skirt in the process. "Just remember I'm still an executive director." "Well you look like a secretary," said Deanna with a little spite. "You look the same as me now." "Slut!" hissed Charlotte. "Quiet!" said Kissy as she smacked the surface of the desk with a ruler, mere inches from where Charlotte was resting her fingers. Charlotte jumped in her seat, alarmed by the sudden smacking sound. "We'll start you off typing some reports." A wad of hand written notes were placed next to Charlotte's typewriter. "Deanna can fill you in one the essential office rules." "No gossiping while typing," said Deanna in her light girlie voice as soon as she was prompted. She knew the office litany by now off by heart. "Knees together at all times while seated. Elbows are not to rest on the desk. Sit up, back straight, stomach sucked in. Always smile when a manager speaks to you, and you always address them as Sir or Ma'am. Flutter eyelashes in a coquettish way when a man addresses you, and act a little bit flustered by the attention. The working day is 8.00 AM to 6.00 PM with a 15 minute coffee break mid morning and mid afternoon. A biscuit must always last as long as your coffee does, so take tiny little bites. You get half an hour for lunch. If you need the toilet you put your hand up. When someone notices you, they'll give you permission to leave your desk, but not before." Deanna sucked her lower lip as she considered what else Charlotte might need to know. "At the end of the working day you replace the cover on your typewriter and you stand behind your desk like the other girls until you're allowed to go. No fidgeting or trying to call attention to yourself. Tomorrow morning we'll see about..." "Tomorrow? I'm not going to be doing this again tomorrow!" said Charlotte indignantly. "Oh?" Kissy raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure about that, little Miss Perfect?" "Of course!" What a stupid girl, thought Charlotte. "Well, we'll see tomorrow, won't we?" "Yes we will," added Charlotte with the self confidence of the selfish rich. "And then you'll be sorry you talked to me like that." Charlotte was suddenly distracted by the sound of all the girls in the typing pool laughing. "What? What's so funny? Oh, you're all going to be in serious trouble tomorrow morning!" "I'm sure they're all very scared," said Kissy with a smile. "Now stand up straight and let me see the seams on your stockings." "This is intolerable." Charlotte stood up and tugged at the hem of her skirt in the process, much to Deanna's delight. "Well now. Look at the seam on your left stocking. Not straight is it?" said Kissy to the accompaniment of peals of laughter from the secretaries again. Even Deanna was enjoying the moment. "I'm an Executive Director!" said Charlotte as she quickly straightened her stocking seam. "The rules about stockings don't apply to me!" "Nonsense. Rules are rules, especially in the typing pool. You'll make sure your seams are straight in future when you sit down. The penalty for a crooked stocking seam is 15 minutes standing in the corner facing the wall. You have to make those 15 minutes up of course by staying on late after the other girls have gone back to their rooms. A second infraction in the same day warrants a spanking." "You wouldn't dare!" Charlotte flushed bright red, but felt that familiar thrill at the sudden thought of being spanked by Kissy, despite the cringing humiliation and embarrassment at the very idea. "Oh, wouldn't I?" Kissy narrowed her gaze. "Think you're too good to be spanked, do you? Think you're better than the other girls?" "Well..." Charlotte gazed around at the sea of frowning faces of girls who obviously held no love for her. "What I meant was..." "What you meant, young missy, is you thought the rules of the secretarial typing pool didn't apply to you? Either you're a secretary in this pool or you're not? Now I'm a bit confused? Are you supposed to be working here or not?" Kissy gazed down at Charlotte. Charlotte thought about this. She was aching with sexual frustration and the only way she could get relief was for Elizabeta to see to her needs, but that rude Russian woman would only do that if she worked in the typing pool. It was so frustrating! If Charlotte simply got up and walked away, then her aching needs would remain unfulfilled. How could she get through the rest of the day and the next few days, weeks even, without relief? She lowered her head in shame and said, "I'm supposed to be working in the typing pool, Kissy." "So that makes you subject to the rules of the typing pool then, doesn't it, Charlotte?" she said with a wicked smile. ----------------------------------------------------------- "Don't fidget, Deanna!" snapped Gemma Layton later that morning as she inspected the short black pencil skirt, crisp white blouse and glossy heels worn by her feminised boss. "It's not a good look for a Junior Trainee Assistant Personal Assistant. And for goodness sake, smile, this is supposed to be a happy company. You do love working for Prentice Industries, don't you?" "But Gem..." Dean bit his tongue as she froze him with a very dark look at the sudden use of her Christian name. "I mean, Miss Layton, I've been wearing this chastity belt for weeks now and it's soooo frustrating..." He didn't dare add that the garter belt, Wolford sheer stockings and the silk knickers that he wore were adding to his discomfort by making him feel perpetually aroused. The tightly laced corset also added to his discomfort, but as his reflection in the glass door attested, it gave him an amazing figure. "Please, please, please, Miss Layton, can you remove it?" "Why on Earth should it be a problem, Deanna? We've been through this before. It's a snug and comfortable fit that provides you with a smooth panty line. Now I can't see how it can possibly be uncomfortable unless you're the sort of scandalous Junior Trainee Assistant Personal Assistant who gets easily aroused by the sight of several handsome Business Executives, like the ones we're about to meet?" Gemma motioned towards the group of thrusting young go-getters who waited for her in the corporate boardroom. Dean knew them all of course for they were his favoured Management team - Paul Ruger, cutting an imposing dash in a perfectly tailored Paul Smith suit; Brendan Fraser, cutting an equally fine dash in another Paul Smith suit; Oliver Chelmsford-Bryce, ruling the corporate roost in a Brooks Brothers suit with hand sewn silk tie; Alan Huntington Carter, every inch the powerful Sales Director, making his mark in a Hugo Boss three piece in charcoal black wool; and finally, Martin Steel - a man who was surely born to wear Armani haute- couture as he indeed did that day. Together they were cocky, headstrong, brash, successful alpha males of the kind who always knew where their GQ magazine subscriptions could be found. They saw themselves as fierce corporate tigers, maybe even lions, dominant in the board room and predatory in the wine bars where a steely glint in your eye and an immaculately presented business card in marbled Brockhurst board with Bamboozle print typeset could slay giggly office girls at twenty paces. Together with Dean at the helm they were successfully driving Prentice Industries into the balance sheet red, oblivious to their group incompetence, and perfectly skilled at attributing all the blame to everyone else. "Is that what's wrong, Deanna? Are you suddenly all hot and flustered at the sight of such a virile group of men? Is that what's going on between your moist legs?" "No! Of course not. I'm not gay!" squealed Dean through his perfectly applied Kate Moss Cinnamon Red lipstick. He wore full makeup - total coverage foundation, dark eyeliner, Urban Decay's soft palate of nude eyeshadows, his cheek bones heavily contoured, his cheeks primed with blush. His nails were perfectly tipped French Nails, permanent and glossy, and his hair was immaculate, cascading down over his shoulders. His tightly buttoned blouse was open to the breast line, exposing a peek of frilly laced bra with deeply plunging cups. Every male head in the room turned as they regarded him. "Hmm, well if you're not feeling sexually excited then I can't see how the chastity belt can possibly be a problem? You are completely limp and flaccid in there, Deanna?" "Of course!" The truth was anything but. Oh, but the feel of the taut suspender straps and the silk lingerie and the soft stockings was driving him wild with excitement. He could feel the sensation of air under his skirt where the stocking tops ended and his sensitive skin lay exposed. The constriction of the corset and the hobbling effect of the heels reinforced the seductively feminine sensations that made his penis ache in protest at its cruel confinement. And the secret humiliation of being seen like this by his wine bar/boardroom cronies was excruciating. Dean felt sure he would faint with shame if any of the men were to recognise him like this. "Oh God, why are they all looking at me like that?" said Dean in panic. The thrusting young executives each held a crystal cut glass full of executive brandy as they lounged comfortably by the trophy cabinet, showing off a number of corporate sporting trophies that they had awarded to themselves over the last year. "Well, if it isn't little Gemma Layton, superstar secretary," sneered Paul Ruger. "Word is you're getting a bit above your station while Dean-O has been out of circulation. Where is he by the way?" "Oh, closer than you might think," said Gemma as she breezed into the room with the hapless Dean by her side. Dean carried a Filofax, notepad and pen. "I've been working with Mr Grimm on Dean's behalf while the Due Diligence has been progressing." There was mocking condescension from the men as they watched Gemma take a seat at the executive boardroom table. "Don't get too comfortable there, darling," said Martin Steel. "Once Dean's back you'll be concerning yourself with the paperclip supplies and fetching the coffees again." The men all laughed at that. None of them took Gemma Layton seriously of course. They all knew she was obviously cultivating airs and graces well above her station. Why Dean had permitted her to be the sole point of contact with Charles Grimm irked every single one of them. She was swimming with sharks, and as far as they were concerned she wasn't exactly a barracuda. "So what have you been working on, Gemmie?" asked Paul Ruger. "I'm sure it must be some serious hi-finance project work." "The office dress code," said Gemma with a smile. "As you know, Mr Prentice has always preferred his office girls to wear smart skirts instead of trousers, so in his absence I've been developing a formal code that follows his preferences to the letter. I'm to present and brief you on it." "Selecting skirts for the secretarial pool to wear. Yep, that's about your level of initiative, Gemma," remarked Alan Huntington Carter with a laugh. The men all visibly relaxed. Some of them had feared that Mr Charles Grimm might have been stupid enough to entrust little Gemma Layton with some real responsibility that could in time undermine their own positions, but no, it was now apparent that Mr Grimm had clearly recognised her limitations as a girl, and had given her a dismissively minor project to attend to. Office secretarial uniforms! That was about her level, they all thought. "Well, I hope you'll all agree I've done a good job. I've brought Deanna with me today to model the new corporate dress code in person." She indicated Deanna who blushed a fiery red as the men regarded her with the expression of a pack of hungry wolves who hadn't eaten in days. "Mr Grimm has already given the new dress code his personal stamp of approval, but of course Mr Grimm isn't yet a shareholder in this company. In Mr Prentice's absence I was hoping that the Executive board could make the necessary decisions on his behalf. You're all so awfully good at making strong, firm decisions," said Gemma in an unusually breathless manner as she fluttered her eyelashes. "I'm so glad I can turn to you for important things like this. Left to my own devices I'm sure I'd just get all flustered and make a mess of things as usual. I'm such a girl!" The men laughed, looking relaxed and cocky, sensing that Gemma Layton's new found independence had buckled the moment she had entered their alpha male circle, as well it should. "You want us to pass the new dress code in Dean's absence?" Martin Steel looked Dean up and down, liking very much what he saw. "I can't see a problem with that." "Thank you so much. Well, as you can see, this is the new look for Prentice Industries. Turn around Deanna, give the men a twirl." She clicked her fingers imperiously and Dean was forced to pirouette on the spot before his boardroom cronies, a couple of whom wolf whistled in appreciation. "The basic ensemble consists of a sheer, almost diaphanous white blouse, tailored to the waist and breasts, with a generous open neck and three quarter length sleeves. This is paired with either a tight black mini-skirt or, as Deanna is modelling now, a tartan check miniskirt. Glossy four inch heels of course with accessorised ankle chains at the back of the heel, tasteful earrings of a hoop variety, and of course full makeup, nails and perfume at all times! I might add that the uniform requirements extend to the lace and silk underwear, suspender belts and sheer stockings. Deanna, please bend over, lift your skirt a little, and show the Gentlemen your stockings and suspenders." "Please, Miss Layton..." this was mortifying for Dean, but with a stern look from Gemma, he quickly bent at the waist and pulled his skirt up, showing off the stocking tops, suspender clips and the smooth silken knickers. "Wow! Do we like that? Yes we do," said Martin Steel as the other men nodded with him in agreement. They were young, they were thrusting, they were corporate wolves in wolf clothing, and they knew what they liked. "Oh, wonderful!" A suspiciously girlish Gemma Layton clapped her hands together in excitement, doing a little dance of pleasure as she gazed in admiration at the boardroom men. She obviously knew her place amongst the boardroom wolves, thought each man in turn. She was after all just a bimbo secretary who had stepped up to fill the shoes of a job more suited for a man. She wouldn't last long. "Approved," said Paul Ruger, with a self satisfied smirk on his face. "Approved," echoed every other man in the boardroom as they sipped their 30 year old brandy. "I love the decisive way you powerful men can make quick decisions," said Gemma, suddenly all girlish awe and admiration as she passed the updated uniform policy around the table for the men to sign off. "If you don't mind me saying, it's firm decision making like that, that has made Prentice Industries what it is today." "Sharp, decisive thinking is our trademark," said Paul Ruger as he signed the policy document, passing it on in turn to the next man. One by one they all added their names, their eyes still focussed on Deanna's stocking clad legs, rather than the small print. "I can't wait for this new uniform policy to be rolled out." "Oh, I'll rush it into the work place today," said Gemma, no longer sounding quite so breathless now that she scooped up the legal documents. "I suspect we will have a few complaints, but the new rules make it quite clear that anyone who refuses to comply can be fired on the spot without any form of compensation." "Excellent!" said Paul Ruger. "Superb," added Martin Steel. "I think I can speak for all of us when I say we're looking forward to seeing you dressed like that, Gemmie." The men joined in with another round of laughter. "Oh, so sorry to disappoint you all," said Gemma, all sweetness and light as she fluttered those deeply alluring eyelashes again, "but I now work for the subsidiary company, Layton Solutions, so the Prentice Industries dress code doesn't apply to me. You have to work directly for Prentice Industries, you see." "But that's just a fancy name for your current department, isn't it?" "Well, technically for complicated balance sheet accounting reasons it is a separate corporate entity now. So sorry, boys." There was much grumbling amongst the young men as they digested that news. They really had been looking forward to seeing the 'up herself' Gemma Layton dolled up in the sexy secretary look. "Well, that's all done and dusted." Gemma rose to her feet, all business like now as she placed the documents in her leather folder. "If you Gentlemen would care to call down to Miss Ashley Jones, she'll see about fitting you out with your new office uniforms. You're all going to look so cute." "What the fuck are you talking about?" asked Martin. "Why, the new corporate dress code that you've just signed into effect. It applies to all employees of Prentice Industries. I believe you all work for Prentice Industries? said Gemma with a smile. "There will of course be routine stocking inspections first thing in the mornings and after lunch breaks." "It's a uniform for girls!" said Paul Ruger. "We're not girls." "No, I think you'll find it's a corporate dress code. There is no mention of sex anywhere in the document, and even if there was such a distinction, it would be illegal. You know we can't impose one dress code for women and one for men. There are all sorts of laws relating to sexual discrimination like that." "You're seriously saying that dress code applies to men as well as women?" "Wasn't that obvious? It was all in the document that you boys signed." "Fuck that. I'm not dressing like... no way!" "Me neither," said Brendan Fraser. "Fuck you for thinking I would," said Oliver Chelmsford-Bryce. One by one they all told Gemma exactly what she could do with her new dress code. They were tigers. Young thrusting go-getting tigers. The world was their oyster. And oysters were made for eating. "Well thank you for making that clear. If you can all clear your desks out by midday, your notices of termination will be ready to collect after lunch. Thank you for your time at Prentice Industries." "What?" "As I explained, refusing to comply with the dress codes terminates your employment without compensation. You've all just given me notice that you've left Prentice Industries with immediate effect. But don't worry, there are several really hard working and intelligent women in the firm that I'll be recommending for promotion to the board room to replace you when I next meet with Mr Grimm. I do hope the company will be able to get along without your three hour lunch breaks, pointless meetings and outmoded sexist practices." Gemma fluttered her eyelashes again in a teasing manner. "Oh, and do you remember those large bonuses you've accrued over the last few years. Do you remember the small print when they were awarded stating that if you left the company in any capacity whatsoever before 2017 then they would all be clawed back? Looks like you boys will be owing Prentice Industries a half of a million dollars each as of noon today. I do hope you haven't spent it all on fast sports cars and expensive living..." "Fuck you and fuck Mr Grimm! You can't do this!" said Chelmsford-Bryce in indignation. "I think you'll find we can, and so does Mr Grimm who by the way has been listening in on our meeting today. As it happens I came in here earlier to switch on the conference call function on the boardroom table and Mr Grimm has been privy to our full discussion." "You heard Miss Layton. You've all effectively resigned from your jobs. Miss Layton is however prepared to re-hire you all as trainee secretaries, sparing you the losses of the bonuses you've no doubt spent already, provided you manage to comply with the new dress codes by noon today," said Mr Grimm through the conference call device. "It's very obvious to me now why this company has been sinking for so long." "You just fired all my senior executives!" said Dean in shock as he walked quickly to keep up with the amused looking Gemma Layton. "Technically they fired themselves in accordance with the new corporate standards they put into place in your name. But don't worry, an all female board will be a big improvement for this company. I already have some names in mind to suggest to Charles." "Charles?" "Mr Grimm, I mean," said Gemma with a slight blush. "He really listens to my suggestions. He's such a sweetie." "But I like those guys!" Dean hurried to keep up with Gemma. "We played golf together on Tuesday afternoons!" "Well, they've still got until noon today to tender tearful and heartfelt apologies and comply with the new corporate dress code. If I see them looking cute in their new tartan mini-skirts and crisp white blouses by one minute past midday, then I may, I just may take them on as trainee secretaries in the typing pool." "There's no way those guys are going to work in skirts and high heels!" "Oh?" Gemma gave Dean a quick once over. "That's different. My circumstances were..." "Based on a realistic fear of losing your company, as I recall. Because without Mr Grimm's financial bail out package, you'd have nothing. Perhaps your high powered friends may feel the same way when they consider the reality of the current labour force. Do you think they're all going to be able to walk into similar high powered jobs any time soon, what with their appalling track records? No, if they lose their jobs here they're going to be unemployed for a very long time to come. And then there's the clawback on their bonuses. Faced with a bill for $500,000 each, do you really think they're going to refuse to step into a pair of glossy high heels? I think all that will sink in fairly soon. The question is whether it will sink in before or after noon today. Now come along, we have another meeting, this time with Mr Grimm himself." ------------------------------------------------------ Mr Grimm scrutinised Deanna with interest as he put away his fountain pen. At last business was concluded and the refinancing/takeover of Prentice Industries was a done deal. It had gone on longer than expected, mostly because Miss Layton had encouraged him to take his time with the due diligence, and that had turned out to be very good advice indeed, especially when it came to understanding how incompetent the previous board of directors had been. Still, they were all gone now, and Mr Grimm had just been notified by text that they had all reluctantly reported to Miss Ashley Jones and were even now being shaved of body hair, strapped into fearsomely constricting girdles and having their makeup done ready for their first afternoon's work in the typing pool under the supervision of Kissy. However, there was something vaguely familiar about this office girl called Deanna. "Have we met before?" "Um, yes, Sir..." Deanna held her notepad neatly on her lap, pen poised. She was acutely aware of two pairs of male eyes devouring her long stocking clad legs. "This is Deanna, Charles. You remember Deanna? She was my secretary when we first began our discussions on the refinance deal. She helped you with compiling the initial accounts," said Gemma helpfully. "Oh yes." Mr Grimm remembered now. "You worked late with me on the first night." Deanna blushed and lowered her head, remembering exactly how she had ended up working late that night, on her knees, sucking a big cock. It seemed so long ago now. "I hope her work was satisfactory," said Gemma. "She certainly gave satisfaction," said Mr Grimm with a chuckle. "Though she needed a bit of coaxing and direction at first. But once she got going, well, she was a natural. Quite the little slut when it comes to dick-tation." Deanna blushed even brighter red. Gemma however seemed to have missed the implication of Mr Grimm's comment, but David Lewis Ambercroft, one of Mr Grimm's personal managers who was now working on the corporate transition details, hadn't. 'Dick-tation! Like it, Charles! Nice one!" He guffawed in an upper class British twit kind of way. Gemma wore her most polite but puzzled expression. She was intuitive enough to understand the two men were hinting at something, but reassuringly na?ve enough not to immediately understand what it was. "Hmmmph. Shame you weren't working on the Prentice project that night, David. You could have had the leftovers." "I'm always up for a tasty bit of pudding. She is a real hottie." Ambercroft reached out and placed his hand on Deanna's bottom, prompting her to jump back, startled. Undeterred, he reached out again, this time hooking a finger around one suspender strap and tweaking it. "Quite the frisky little thing, isn't she?" "Mr Ambercroft..." Gemma tutted, rather bemused by his licentious behaviour. "This is a business meeting." "And this business is pretty much over, so what do you say we order up some bottles of champers and celebrate? Let's see, there's two of us and two stunning bits of skirt and... Ow!" David Lewis Ambercroft was suddenly slapped hard across the face by Gemma Layton. "What did you do that for?" he whimpered, suddenly put in his place. "Did warn you before hand," said Mr Grimm as he watched David rub his face. "Miss Layton doesn't stand for that sort of thing." "No I don't!" Gemma flicked her attention back towards Deanna. "And pull your skirt down, Deanna. You're showing off one of your stocking tops! No wonder the men are acting so silly." "I'm sorry, Miss Layton." Deanna automatically bobbed down into a little curtsey, as she had been taught to do while at the school. "She showed off rather more than her stocking tops at that late night meeting," said Mr Grimm as he shuffled his papers together at the close of the meeting. "The things that some girls will do to persuade me to sign their papers..." "I have never been so humiliated in a meeting in my life!" Gemma slammed the office door closed and span round to glare at a terrified looking Deanna, now that realisation had finally dawned on what exactly Deanna had done in private with Mr Grimm all those many weeks ago. "I can't believe you did that! And that I had to find out the hard way at the end of a proper business meeting with those gentlemen! How could you, Deanna? Do you have any idea..." "Miss Layton, I didn't want to, but..." "Now I know why you asked me all those strange questions about what I did when I worked late with clients. And I specifically asked you, did you give Mr Grimm a blow job, and you lied to me!" "Please, Miss Layton, I didn't want you to know..." "And no wonder! You are such a slut! I was only gone for a few hours and while my back was turned you were on your knees sucking Mr Grimm! Oh God, I feel ill just thinking about it. And you lied to me! You lied to me!" Deanna had never seen Gemma look so angry before. "You are in so much trouble now, Deanna, you really are. I warned you back at the hotel. I told you that if you had done something it would be better to come clean and tell me then, because if I found out after the event..." Gemma reached for her telephone. "I've tried my best to understand your desire to cross dress, and I've tried my best to accommodate your fantasies, but you've really crossed the line now. Offering personal services to an important businessman is completely unethical, not to mention probably illegal." Deanna cringed and fluttered her false eyelashes in alarm. "I didn't have any choice!" "I can't believe you said that. Didn't have any choice. You could have said no!" Gemma shook her head. "You realise your actions have made me look bad. It's a reflection on the company. Well, I can't let this go. Not this time. I'm afraid it's going to be the heavy wooden paddle for you, Deanna. Adopt the position over my desk. Hurry up now, you silly slut!" "Please, Gemma... it hurts so much being spanked!" wailed Deanna as she was ordered to adopt the pose, bent over Gemma's desk with the palms of her hands resting on the surface, the back of her skirt hitched up around her waist, revealing the pink silk of her knickers and the soft creamy flesh of her rounded ass cheeks and and sensitive inner thighs. She knew what was coming as Gemma seemingly reluctantly chose a heavy flat paddle from a collection that Elizabeta had leant her for just such an occasion. "And what choice have you given me, Deanna? Hmm?" Gemma slapped the paddle against the palm of her hand once and winced, recognising it would do the job. "I warned you. Didn't I warn you? And I told you to be honest with me? Didn't I say that? Didn't I say things would go much worse for you if you lied and I found out at a later date?" "It was a mistake! I didn't know what I was doing! You left me there with him! He took advantage of me! Please, Gemma..." Deanna suddenly howled as Gemma pulled down Deanna's soft pink knickers to her ankles and delivered a sharp slap across her exposed rump with the flat of the paddle. From the expression on her face she didn't seem at all pleased. "How are you supposed to address me, Deanna? We've been through this before?" "Miss Layton! Always as Miss Layton! I'm sorry, I forgot..." "You're just such a bimbo, aren't you, Deanna?" She slapped Deanna's ass twice more for the misuse of her name. "Now, I think twenty strokes of the paddle will teach you an important lesson not to go flirting with the upper management. Poor Mr Grimm - it's hardly his fault if you were so provocative while working late into the night with him. He's only a man after all. How is he going to guard himself from your manipulative charms and provocative teasing?" "It wasn't like that Miss Layton..." The howls and blubbering came thick and fast now as Gemma proceeded to deliver ten heavy strokes of the paddle. Tears were running down Deanna's face by the end of the first set of ten, ruining her mascara. Gemma had paused to walk round and inspect the state of Deanna's face. "Oh really, look at you. Now you're going to have to waste working time fixing your makeup before you can go back to the typing pool. Well, I'm not having that. From now on for every half an hour of non-productive time out you have to take like that, you'll owe the company three hours of unpaid over time. Have I made myself clear?" "Yes, Miss Layton. Of course Miss Layton," cried Deanna. "Good. Now let's the get the other ten strokes out of the way, because I have a busy day ahead of me now that we've closed the re-financing deal." Another ten strokes of the heavy wooden paddle followed in quick succession, and by the end of it Deanna would have said and agreed to anything to avoid another punishment like that. Slowly, painfully, Deanna lifted herself from the desk and winced as she pulled her knickers back in place. Even the soft silk felt rough now against her blazing red bottom and upper thighs. Still crying, she gingerly pulled her short tartan skirt back down around her hips, feeling the constrictive pressure of the stretchy fabric pressing against her abused skin. How was she going to be able to sit down and work like this? Suddenly the door to Gemma's office swung open without warning, and as Deanna looked up she saw her beautiful wife, Charlotte, stride into the room. Charlotte was still dressed in the slutty secretarial uniform that all the girls in the typing pool were forced to wear, but something in her demeanour had changed as she seemed distraught, furious and almost hysterical. In her right hand she had a thick envelope. "Where is Dean?! Where is Dean?! Oh my God, I can't believe this is happening! What's he done?" Charlotte waved the mysterious envelope in the air, looking frantic. Looking closely, Deanna could see smudged mascara where Charlotte had been crying too. "You really need to make an appointment, Charlotte, if you want to speak with me," said Gemma, not at all pleased with the sudden interruption. "I'm a senior manager now, soon to be an executive, and I can't just have people storming into my office like..." "You're not listening to me, Gemma!" screamed an irate Charlotte Prentice as she stamped her secretarial-heeled foot. "I insist you listen to me! You must listen to me! I'm an executive director of this company and I want to know where I can find my husband, and I want to know that right now! No more excuses - I need to talk to him about this letter!" She continued to wave a thick envelope in the air. "Mr Prentice really doesn't want me to..." "Now! Right now! That's an order, Gemma. I'm a director!" Gemma could see Deanna frantically trying to signal not to reveal who he was, but Gemma was in a difficult position now. Charlotte was still a director of the company and she could insist that Gemma told her what she needed to know. "That's Mr Prentice, over there," said Gemma as she pointed to Deanna who now looked mortified. "What?!" Charlotte spun round on her heels and stared at Deanna in his short tartan skirt, white blouse, stockings and heels. Now that she was looking properly, realisation dawned. "Oh my God! Oh my God! Dean?! What? What are you doing dressed as a secretary?" She put her hands to her mouth in shock and dismay. "You're wearing a slutty short skirt and make-up!" Gemma was tactful enough to not point out perhaps that Charlotte herself was wearing precisely the same style of 'slutty short skirt' as expected of typists in the secretarial pool. "Charlotte, this is all a terrible misunderstanding!" pleaded Deanna, her face flushed with embarrassment at being identified at last by his wife. "One thing led to another and..." "Oh God, this is a nightmare, first this letter and now you looking like this... Have you been dressing up in my things all these years?" "It's not like that, Charlotte, honestly. I don't know where to begin to explain... We were at a hotel and I was supposed to meet Mr Grimm and then..." what had happened exactly? Deanna's mind was these days so concerned with keeping her makeup looking perfect, and keeping her stocking seams straight, and responding to the flurry of instructions from Kissy and Gemma, and making the coffee, and learning to understand 'bimbo maths', and learning to touch type, and... she knew roughly what had happened to her since that day in the hotel, but putting it all in sequence and making sense of it all. "I don't want to hear any more!" Charlotte held her hand up and shook her head. "I bet all the time you've been married to me you've been pulling my underwear out of the wash basket and wearing it in secret! I'm getting a divorce and I'm going to sue you for every penny you..." Charlotte suddenly stumbled to a halt there and gazed down at the letter in her hand. "What? What is it?" asked Deanna. The letter obviously contained bad news, but what could it possibly be? "This is from our accountant, Dean!" she cried. "He tells us we don't have any money any more! You've lost it all, but it's all in complicated banking jargon and I don't understand a word of it! What the hell have you done these past few months while you've been pretending to be a secretary!" Deanna quickly took the envelope from Charlotte as Gemma watched the pair of them. Dean was able to make out the gist of the papers enclosed within - that the statements were from his accountant, and that he was apparently now penniless and on the verge of bankruptcy. But after all those months of learning bimbo maths, Deanna found the big numbers very confusing. He gazed up at Gemma with bewilderment in his eyes. "Shall I, Deanna? It's obviously a bit too complicated for you..." Gemma took the envelope as Deanna handed it to her. The papers were mostly share dealing statements, and as Gemma slowly flipped through the stapled pages, reading the statements and the figures provided by the accountant, she came to an understanding of what they meant. "Hmm, yes... yes, well this isn't good at all." After a while Gemma seemed to have read enough. She glanced up from the papers and shook her head. "You don't have any money any more," she said simply. "What? How? What are you talking about? We're rich!" said Charlotte angrily. "Yes, we're worth millions," said Deanna, also unsure what was going on. Gemma sighed and folded the papers. "Deanna decided to invest in future options on shares in this company." "What's that?" asked Charlotte. "It's where you promise to buy shares at some date in the future at an agreed fixed price. You usually do this if you think the trading price on that day will actually be higher. By buying at the agreed price at a discount, you can then instantly sell at the actual price and bank the difference. The beauty of this is its self financing - you pay for the shares you're buying with the money you get from selling them." "So we've made money then?" said Charlotte. "How is that bad?" "Well, Deanna here thought to take advantage of privileged information of the impending takeover by Mr Grimm. Prentice Industries stock was trading at approximately $23 a share, but due to its volatility, future options were available at $21 a share. Of course Deanna here knew that once news of Mr Grimm's re-finance deal became public knowledge, the shares would rocket to somewhere close to $40 a share, where funnily enough they had been before she took over as chairman/managing director." "So we've made lots of money. $40 is much more than $21!" "Yes, but unfortunately the due diligence has dragged on, mostly due to my painstaking attention to detail I'm afraid, and although Mr Grimm has now signed, and yes the share price is now climbing to $40 a share, the date when Deanna's future dated purchase was due was yesterday. Unfortunately the continuing uncertainty in the future of the company and the disappearance for such a long time of its managing director meant that in the interim the share price nose dived to just under $3 a share. In other words, Deanna was obliged to buy millions of shares at $21 each when the trading price was now $3 each. Your accountant had to sell your entire existing shareholding to fund the devalued purchase, and immediately sell the shares you bought to also pay for the inflated price, and even then you still owed money, and so your house and cars have been seized. By the looks of this your outstanding balance was reduced to $250,000 and so your accountant has filed for your bankruptcy. You basically own what you're currently wearing." Charlotte and Deanna stared at one another in horror. "We don't own anything?" said Charlotte. "Unfortunately not. However, owing to this tragic set of circumstances I can offer you a full time secretarial job here in the typing pool. Minimum wage of course, but at least it will pay enough for you to get by." Charlotte began crying. "However, that doesn't deal with the second equally serious matter..." Gemma shook her head now and sighed, almost as if she knew what was coming up next in the letter. "Oh, this is bad, Deanna, Charlotte... very very bad, far more serious than your bankruptcy. It looks like you're being prosecuted for insider dealing." "What?" Deanna still understood enough about finance to know how serious those words were. "Yes, it looks like Mr Grimm caught wind of your future share dealing purchases from some anonymous but highly trusted source working closely with him, and reported you for taking advantage of privileged corporate information relating to the re-financing takeover merger. Oh, but this is very serious. You would be looking at prison sentences for something like this." "Prison?!" said Charlott