CYNETTA'S JOB

Cynetta in a Glass Cage

by: Karen Anne Summerfield

writing as

Cynetta Cynthia Cynclaire

© June 1997

 

Monica stared in a curious way. She'd been interviewing me for half an hour after I'd demonstrated my skills with a computer, mostly graphics that I'd learned at Vo Tech. "Well Mr. Jeffers, I think you have the ability to start as a graphic assistant, but I have a problem...."

"Please ms Passetto, just give me a chance?" I interrupted, "I really... desperately, need a job. I'll do anything to..."

Holding up her hand, "Interesting...? Anything? That was, what you just said, was it not?"

"Yes. I'll do anything! Please, just give me a chance."

Standing, she turned, looking out the window for several moments. I thought it best to let her think. At least she'd not said no. Not turning to face me, "You may have noticed... my staff here is composed entirely of females, rather attractive females by just about anyone's standards." Now turning to face me with a strange grin on her lips, "If you were to look female... wrong word..." her smile broadened, "Not just look, but conduct yourself, all of the time as a girl, I'll consider giving you a trial... a probationary job."

Monica re-sat behind her desk. I was rattled. This couldn't really be happening? Still smiling in that strange way, "I don't think you'd be so silly, as to try convincing me that, that requirement would not be acceptable, would you?"

Somehow, how? I didn't quite understand, but somehow, it was as if she knew of my other self, my TV self, but how? As if reading my mind, "I saw you, the other you. You probably didn't recognize me then, or remember me; I wasn't dressed very attractively, certainly not as attractive as you were in the Artist's Superstore two Saturdays ago. It was fairly crowded too, but I remember the girl with the long dark hair, in her yellow blouse, unbuttoned to show real cleavage, wearing tight black, designer jeans and expensive, high-heeled knee boots, carefully selecting some acrylic paint.

"It wasn't a color one would use for rendering a Rembrandt, was it? Maybe that hot fluorescent red would make a really neat nail color?" her eyes briefly focused on my fingernails, which had no polish then, but were still filed to rounded ends, longer than most guys might wear. "She had pierced ears, just about in the same place as those little holes in your lobes, hair about the same length and color as yours and...." Monica's voice trailed before she continued, "There aren't to many today that drive around in a bright red convertible, thirty year old Triumph with a white leather interior, very much like the one parked, right now, in the visitor's slot outside, fully restored and in immaculate condition." Monica was not facing me. She just seemed to be thinking out loud.

"Now, suppose you put on your other personality, stop this game and tell me something about yourself that I've not figured out. Your preferred name would be a good place to start?" she smiled at me.

I was truly in shock. It took me a moment to switch my head into the right gear. "My name is Cynetta Cynthia Cynclaire. What else can I tell you that you'd like to know, Ms Passetto?" I spoke two octaves higher, softened it and lowered the volume, which widened her smile.

"I like the sound of that, very much, Cynetta," she complimented.

"First it is Monica. I hate MZ anybody and certainly not when directed towards me." She'd picked up her pen, "Spell your name." I did. "Cute, really cute, I like it. Too bad we can't all choose our name like you have, Cynetta."

She passed me a blank job application just like the one I'd filled out earlier. "Complete this, lie where appropriate. If any reason pops up to cause me to get pissed off, I can always fire you for falsifying that." Taking the original, she put it into the shredder over the wastebasket. "Work on it while we talk," she said while offering me a pen.

"Sue me or complain to the EEOC - are you gay?"

"No! I've no desire, no fantasies about being with a male. I much prefer girls."

Laughing, "Then you are," she laughed. "A girl that prefers girls is gay too, a lesbian. Have you ever had sex with a girl, slept with one?"

"Err.., not as Cynetta. I did the other way, just once, but... I couldn't go all the way."

"Monday you can start, seven thirty 'til five fifteen. Eight fifty an hour, no benefits. Bring your lunch."

Monica took a pen and began to write for a few minutes, "This is a dress code for work. Just for you, Cynetta." She tore off the sheet and extended it with a huge grin, "I do expect you to begin to comply with it."

I started to scan it, but there was no need, Monica told me what she'd written, "Skirts and dresses only, very short. No slacks, no pants. No suits either, not for an office girl in your position. Stockings, no pantyhose or tights. Real stockings, ones with prominent back seams and long heel accents. Heels, no flats, no boots, at least for now either." I looked up, "You can wear high heels, Cynetta?"

"Yes."

"How high?"

"I'm OK with four inches. I've a pair of pumps with five-inch spikes, but I'm kinda wobbly in them, Monica."

"I'm pleased you're giving me honest answers and not PGS, that means PonyGirl Shit. Best never to lie to me.

"Five inches then is the minimum heel height I'll let you wear to work." I squirmed in my seat, Monica was dominating me and her doing it was turning me on, a fantasy come true; to have an attractive woman give me orders to dress and that I'd have no choice, but to obey her. My little movement had not gone unnoticed.

Again, like she was a mind reader, "You like me giving you orders, don't you?"

Managing just a slight whisper, "Yes."

"Good. I can think up a bunch more." Her lashes lowered to my chest, "Tell me, was the cleavage you showed in the store, actually real?"

"Yes, I have about C minus breasts. They're taped with an ACE® bandage, to flatten them now."

"Ever wear a corset?"

"No, not a real one, at least. Closest I have is a couple of logline bras and a lightly boned Basque."

"Get yourself one and start wearing it, all of the time. Get more, higher, heels to, I'll give you a month to start wearing six-inch heels to work and we'll work up from there."

Holding up my hand, "What?" she was not angry.

"I..., I've been out of work for sometime and piled up a bunch of bills. Eight fifty an hour isn't going to go much further than take care of rent, food, utilities, gas and insurance for my car and to start catching up on paying them, Monica."

Her turn to stop me with an up raised hand, "And pretty heels, like I just told you aren't cheap, almost a third your weekly take home pay. Got it."

Her red lip contorted, briefly, "Any reason why you can't come shopping with me tomorrow morning?" I shook, No. "Fine," handing me her pad, "Write directions from Middle Grove to your place. I'll pick you up about eight thirty. Dress to look your best... Cynetta.

"Almost forgot, makeup, I want to see a definite made up look, nothing natural or subtle for you." Pausing to stare at me, "Hair, bangs, big, full bangs, and you will not wear your hair loose, at any time. About as loose as I'll permit is a single ponytail, if you fix it from the very top of your skull, not the least bit in the back. You can show me a French twist, braids, two braids or twin ponytails from high above your ears, or whatever else you think up. Unless you braid it, tight, or do a ponytail, I don't want to see any hair below your collar. You are forbidden to cut any of it, not even a trim."

Raising my hand again, she nodded. "I understand what you just said, Monica, but I do not understand how I can have bangs without cutting it or trimming?"

"Point well made, Cynetta. When we are together tomorrow, I'll get them professionally done."

I did not sleep well, my head was full of thoughts about everything that had and was about to happen in my life. I was, at the same time, thrilled and extremely anxious. Despite not getting a good night's rest, I got up early to try to look my best for Monica.

In response to the hormones I'd been taking, my body hair had thinned and become much sparser, though it had never been heavy. Just like any other woman, I still needed to depilatory my legs and underarms for them to look proper. Completely hairless after my bath, I dried and dusted my favorite body powder all over, stepped into a pair of black satin bikinis, put on my robe and went to the kitchenette to make tea and a light breakfast.

Admiring the job I'd done the evening before, after shampooing and setting my below the shoulder length hair, of applying a full set of false nails as I sipped my tea, I debated repainting them. They'd, altogether, taken me almost three hours to complete, cuticles, shaping, buffing, gluing on the long tips, filling the joints, shaping and buffing more then applying the hot, fluorescent red, acrylic paint that I sometimes use as a nail polish over a white base in several coats, buffing in between, then three coats of ultra hi-gloss clear over that. No, despite their attention getting color on their extra long length, I wasn't going to spend two hours re-polishing them in a more subtle shade.

I'd already decided what I'd wear hooking on a plain, black satin, uplift bra to match my panties then carefully smoothing a pair of sheer black pantyhose up my smooth legs (I did not own any real stockings then). I next pulled on a black, mini, half-slip and sat to do my makeup. I'd put on false nails only a few times before, but I'd never taken the time to get them to look as good as they did and, those times, I'd not had them half as long as they now were. Those times I'd learned that the brand of nails I used were nearly, if not impossible to break and did not pop off unexpectedly, like the press on ones I'd tried. Removing them completely, took just about as much time as putting them on right.

As I started smoothing a base foundation, I learned something else very quickly. Doing the simple had just become very difficult with nails that long, they were constantly in the way of gripping something and I fumbled to hold my mascara brush and eyeliner until I accidentally discovered holding things with the sides of my fingers instead.

I'd been applying makeup, when I could, for a few years and had read and had experimented enough to be able to achieve a wide variety of effects from subtle to party extreme. I preferred a definite made-up, dramatic 'evening' look, but also knew enough not wear it during the daytime, especially in sunlight and it was going to be a very bright sunny day. Using just a few shades of brown to beige shadows, lightly applied, a hint of pinks on my cheeks and a medium red, gloss lipstick over my foundation, my only concession to my preferred makeup was lots of black mascara and black liner on my upper lids only. If I did not wear mascara, I did not feel I looked right at all and felt very unattractive and uncomfortable without any.

I slipped into a white, long sleeved blouse with a deep lace covered vee, and edged in lace ruffles that showed the swelling of my breasts. It has a very high collar reaching to under my chin with ruffled edge and buttons from my bra strap up, in back. Back buttoned blouses to me, are definitely very feminine and I've three. Normally, I could manage them fairly well, but hadn't planned how difficult my new nails were going to be. Doing them up was a twenty minute job compared to just a couple, for only, seven, tiny, round buttons!

I was running late, I managed to get my hair into the softly waved mane and sprayed it to hold. I'd smoothed out the straight black just above the knee, skirt and was slipping on my black calf pumps when my doorbell startled me. I wasn't ready! Despite my heart pounding, I opened for Monica.

"Good morning, I'll be a few minutes. Make yourself comfortable."

Instead of sitting where I motioned, Monica followed me into my bedroom and sat on my bed. "Cynetta, I don't want to start seeming like a bitch, but I think it best we get started right. Tardiness really annoys me. I did say eight thirty. In the future, when I give you a time when I expect something done, it's to be done by then or before then. If meeting my deadline is not possible, for any reason, I expect to be informed about it before the deadline. Do you understand that?"

"Yes, Monica. You are quite clear."

"OK. Now that, that is settled and, hopefully, clearly understood, you look very nice. Take the quote few minutes, unquote, you asked for and finish what you need too. Do not rush, just because of what I said. I dislike a job only half done right much more that it being completed late."

I sat at my vanity to put in my sterling hoops. "Mind if I look through your things? Say so, if it bothers you, but it will help, knowing what you have, to shop for you today."

"No, go ahead." I took more time to brush and arrange my hair and spray it. For the rest of my jewelry, I clipped on my thin silver colored watch and a couple of sterling rings then put makeup and what else I needed in my large, black leather, shoulder bag, transferring my license, credit cards and cash to Cynetta's wallet.

"I'm ready, Monica." I stood and turned to model when she twirled her hand, indicating that I should.

"As I said already, you look very nice. I do accept that you could not dress to comply with my dress code for you today. Do you have an ankle bracelet?" I didn't. "We'll put one on our shopping list.

"I want a very honest answer from you. Look in your mirror carefully before you answer me." I moved to the cheval mirror where she pointed. "Do you like everything you see? Are you comfortable going out to the mall and shopping as you are?"

"Yes... I think so. What's wrong with my outfit?"

"I've not said there is anything wrong, have I? I want you to feel good about what you are wearing to start and how attractive you are. If you don't, I want you to change. My personal opinion is not important at this time. I just don't want you to think, much less hear you tell me, that there is something wrong. If you don't think you look good, and don't project that belief when others look at you then you are not going to feel your best and relax to enjoy yourself.

"Get a jacket or coat, it's chilly out and we'll go."

The only fem outerwear that I owned was a plain, black, linen look blazer. Monica looked intently, as I slipped into it, but her face was neutral and she said nothing until seated behind the wheel of her car. "I saw some nice things in your closet. You can put together a few basic outfits for work with what you have. We'll get you accessories and other clothes that comply with the Code. Here's what I thought up, I'll advance you the money, if you work out at the office, I'll cancel the debt in six months, if you don't and either quit or cause me to fire you, you owe me the money I put out for your wardrobe."

"That seems..."

"I don't intend for this to be a debate. End of that discussion, Cynetta."

We rode in silence after she cut me off from accepting her offer. I really didn't know what I should or shouldn’t say. Her next words and tone tended to clarify that my opinion was not going to be considered.

"First stop will be to get you a proper corset. As I said, I will require you to wear one all of the time, even to sleep in. If the reduction of your waist size isn't proceeding satisfactorily, I'll know you are cheating by not keeping yourself tightly laced and putting forth the necessary effort to be pleasing and you will find that when I tighten your laces, it's going to be a lot more uncomfortable until you start obeying my orders.

"After, we'll go to the Mall and first get you heels, an ankle bracelet and get your bangs styled. The corsetiere's will have the required style of stockings. You will begin complying with the Code as we shop." I felt her stare, "One thing, I do not want, is to hear you complain, no complaints about anything! Get that into your head very quickly!"

The shop she parked beside was in town; it was the corsetiere's. Feeling nervous exiting the car, worried that what was in my panties would be discovered and how I was possibly going to be able to deal with that embarrassment prevented me from properly walking in my moderate heels. A stumble almost sent me to the pavement, snapped my concentration and directed it where it should have been.

"You OK?"

"Yes, just wasn't paying attention."

Inside what was once the living room of the converted house, I found myself surrounded by full and part mannequins and forms attired in a wide variety of foundations from simple, everyday bras and girdles to real corsets, both modern and old fashioned.

"Good morning ladies. May I help you this morning?" The voice belonged to a very pleasant lady. Wearing a gray knit sheath, I marveled at the figure it hugged, firm breasts, well separated by her bra cups, full, wide hips and, in between, a very small waist, All blended together smoothly with minimal contours of her undergarments that she must be wearing.

"Good morning. I'm Monica Passetto. I called yesterday. This is my employee, Cynetta Cynclaire."

"Oh yes. I'm Jayne Van Forest. We spoke. Pleased to meet you, Monica."

Smiling nicely to me, "Good morning, Cynetta. That's a pretty name, for a pretty girl."

Returning her attention to Monica, "Can you tell me what you've in mind for her?"

"A real corset, as I told you. I'd like her to have a tiny waist, as quickly as possible."

"Most say that," she grinned at me. "A tiny waist takes some time to achieve. It isn't developed overnight."

Carefully accessing my figure, "Is she your maid, Monica?"

"No, she is a graphic artist and receptionist in my firm. Can I ask what difference that makes?" Receptionist? This had not been discussed.

"Sure. If she were your maid, that would tell me a lot more about your relationship and just why you brought Cynetta here," she started toward another room. "As I understand it, you simply wish her figure and posture improved and that suggests the appropriate corset."

Monica seemed to nod, as if she understood exactly what Jayne said. I hadn't. Finding the courage to speak, "I'm a little dense, I guess. What does my job have to do with a corset?"

"Please get undressed?" Jayne moved to help me. "A lot of my clients are into the... kinky scene. If you were Monica's maid, it would indicate that I should pick a much more severe corset for your first one. Many of the Mistresses who bring their maids here want them to suffer, more or less, and their corsets to be quite restrictive. Also, the chores a maid is assigned, normally requires her to be moving about and standing much of the time, so a longer busk is more appropriate than if she were sitting.

"You can leave your panties on. Step over here and hold on to the bar, overhead. That's it, Cynetta." Jayne carefully measured me from under my arms to below my derriere, around and up and down.

"I'd suggest a light color, Monica, pale pink, off white, peach..." >From a drawer she approached me, unfolding a very stiff garment of peach brocade with the expected laces and garter tabs waggling.

"Jayne, the panties we discussed... to pad her derriere."

"Of course." She produced a pair of white satin panties that looked very thick and bulky. When she pulled the quilted garment up, I could no longer bring my thighs together. The bulk between my legs felt enormous. Monica, staring intently, right before me, cautioned "No complaints! You will wear them, just for today and when you report on Monday."

"This will be nice. Continue to grip the bar. It stretches your torso and makes it easier to put on."

"Jayne, Cynetta lives alone, don't you think she should learn to put it on by herself?"

"Of course, but not the first time. I must assure it fits properly. She'll be motivated to learn to do it by herself, as soon as she wants to. I'd not be concerned."

The busk was hooked from under my breasts to halfway between my belly button and crotch, covering the top few inches of the new panties. Going behind me, I felt her begin at the top and work down to remove all slack in the criss-crossed laces then from the bottom edge up to my waist. She hadn't really begun to tighten them, just taking out slack. "Put your hands back here a moment, Cynetta." I felt her hands take mine, "Lovely nails.

"OK. Feel the laces, up and down, that's how you want them when you put your corset on and hook the busk." She taped me again, over the corset in several places. "Put your hands up again, I'll tighten your corset."

She began at the bottom. "A lot of fantasies read that your first corset has got to be so tightly laced that you are either instantly tortured or soon in severe pain. If that wets your panties, Cynetta, you can tighten these until you are. Most of the maids get that, first time, like it or not."

The laces from the top began to tighten. Jayne went over both sets twice and tied them off. I was again measured. "The corset has removed just three quarters of an inch at the top, four inches from your waist and an inch at its bottom, despite your cute panties. Right now there's a three inch gap on top, half an inch at the bottom and a little more than two at your waist, so, as you get accustomed to being corseted you can work toward getting the laces completely closed, top to bottom.

"Go slowly, especially from the top down, the only way to close that gap is for your rib cage to be bent and compressed and, other than breaking them, it won't happen overnight nor in a month." Rapping me in front, "From here down there aren't any bones to break and you can tighten more, but do give your insides time to find new places to live, here, in your abdomen," she touched me there.

"You're all done. That's tight enough to start." I let go of the bar and moved toward my things.

"Cynetta, might I suggest a different bra? One more suitable?"

I think Monica had the same question as I did by her expression. "You know nice girls really don't wear black undies under white blouses. Besides, with your figure, now, I think a different bra, with a bit more lift and separation will look much better."

"Black or red are suitable colors for her, Jayne." Receiving a curious look.

In addition to several bras, Monica selected several dozen pairs of stockings, from white, to beige, to black. At that time I didn't understand the meaning of 'full-fashioned' when she'd specified that style. The pair put on my legs and clipped to the eight garters were black. As I was instructed how to get their prominent seams, perfectly straight, I really noticed the darker heel accents that rose a full seven inches up my legs in back. It seemed strange that there was no stretch to the nylons.

With the purchase of the corset, Jayne supplied an elastic belt for her customers, so the clothes they wore would fit to hug their new waist size until she got others that properly would fit there. The skirt I'd worn had fit my hips snuggly, now it looks stuffed and very unnatural. Monica's stern look again cautioned and reminded me about voicing my complaint, as I, unsuccessfully, tried to smooth it out.

Sitting in the car seat again, I discovered that the only way to even start to get comfortable, and it was only a start, was to sit bolt upright and not lean back. My mind too was on the bulky padding that was forced and compressed between my legs and on hips. Giggling, "You'll find that wearing your corset will give you much better posture, Cynetta.

"I will be checking, that you lace it just as tightly as now and for it to be increasingly tighter, until the gap at your waist is closed, so don't cheat. One other thing, I never, and I do mean never, do I want to hear one single complaint about your corsets or your clothing, not to me and not to anyone else. I am serious about that, so don't!"

The corset wasn't that bad, then. Sure it constricted me, forced me to breathe differently and didn't allow me to bend or move as I could if I was not wearing it, but I don't think what I felt was what I'd often read in fantasy stories describing the experience. Jayne's choice and Monica's agreement with it, made me thankful that I wasn't her maid and received their initial exposures to corseting that were mentioned.

First stop once we'd entered the mall was to get my anklet. Monica and I sat on stools while she did the selection. Since she had made it obvious that the style was going to be her choice as she looked over the offerings, it surprised me when she held two different sterling chains before me, "Which do you prefer, this or this?"

Both were medium width, one, a flattened twist link, the other a herringbone design, which I thought looked nice. She set them down and picked up the tray with a dozen different plates, pointing to just three: an oval, a double heart and a rectangle, "Pick."

"I like the hearts."

She laid it over the chain. "Its too small. Have you anything like this only half again as large?" she asked the sales clerk.

"We can cut it. It will only take several minutes and make up the anklet, Ms."

"Its Miss, please? This is what I wish engraved on it. How long will it take and how much, please?" She had passed a business-sized card from her purse.

"Only forty minutes. Forty-five dollars plus the tax... Miss."

Monica held out three twenties and stood, "We'll be back to pick it up."

"Miss, I really should measure for proper fit."

"Certainly."

I was nervous; I had valid reasons to be. The gentleman kneeling down and almost fondling my ankle sent tremors through me. I was glad to again be in the corridor. "Can I ask what you're having engraved on it, Monica?"

"Sure." She smiled at me, not answering immediately. "Simply, 'Monica's'. You figure it out.

"OK. Told you we'd get a corset, stockings, ankle bracelet, now let's look for belts to show off your waist and some nice, sexy shoes, high heels, of course."

"Monica, I told you, honestly, that I'm OK with four inches, but any higher..."

"And I told you I want you wearing high heels. That borders on a complaint and I do not wish to hear complaints. I believe I have stated that several times, now. You are going to very quickly learn that when I tell you something, that I mean it, Cynetta."

Not pausing, to even look in the window, she entered a shoe store that I knew featured very sexy shoes and boots. When we left, nearly an hour later, I was carrying four new pair of shoes, and was wearing a pair of black patent, front-laced, baby doll-toed oxfords with spike heels, just over six inches high. Walking in these new shoes was nearly impossible. I could only manage the tiniest of steps with my knees bent and I wobbled, very unsteadily, trying to keep close to her. The padding between my thighs had made me almost waddle since they'd been put on and I was now acutely aware of how I must appear to others. I was getting lots of stares, gawks and very strange looks, from everyone! Monica was, unsuccessfully trying to suppress a fit of giggles, "You look really silly... you know?

Monica selected only a few blouses and tops, insisting I wear a long sleeved, white, knit one with a very low scoop cut out, below the turtleneck and the shoulders cut out too, to leave them bare, after I'd tried it on. Never asking my opinions about her choices, Monica selected a half dozen skirts and a jumper for me to try on. I couldn't, didn't want to, believe how short they all were. Standing perfectly straight, none of their hems were long enough, especially with my padded hips, to complexly cover the lower part of my dark stockings' tops and these were long. She rejected three of the skirts, after I modeled them, very embarrassed by the teen girls giggling at me, a few feet away. She had me stay in the black jumper with a full, pleated, micro skirt when I'd put it on.

Pausing by a beauty salon in one of the out of the way corridors, Monica grabbed my wrist and almost caused me to fall from my unsteady perch, as she dragged me inside. There was only one other customer and two unoccupied attendants. "This is Cynetta. I want her to have really big bangs. Can one of you do that to her?"

"Fer sure." The one with huge, teased blonde hair, tipped with pinks and lilacs grinned at me. Gripping my free wrist, she too, almost caused me to fall. "Sit there."

I tried, futilely, to smooth my tiny skirt under me and tugged it to make it cover my stocking tops. "No way, Hun. You can't stretch it or wish that its long 'nugh." My waist protested, as she pulled my shoulders to sit back.

"Here, I'll cover yas' up, protect yer modesty." Teasing and giggling, as she flipped the plastic cape over me.

My respite from being so exposed was extremely brief, Monica learned over and pushed the cape, as well as my skirt all the way to my tight waist." Sit still! Put your hands behind you and keep them there."

i'd little choice, other than to obey. Once my hair was dampened with water spray and brushed smooth. Monica's long nail traced a line, over the top of my head, from ear to ear. "I want her bangs to start from there and end in a sweeping curve, just below her eyebrows, when teased up really high."

"Fer sure. Luv it.

"Sit still Hun, This won't take me long, fer sure."

I felt positively ridiculous, as we walked through the mall, teetering, waddling and mincing is a more correct description. Thankfully, Monica was patient and went slow. "We'll get your ankle bracelet and go... unless there's more you want?"

I managed to flop, very ungracefully, into the car seat, when I finally reached it, my toes and the back of my calves ached with cramps induced by my new shoes. Despite being tempted, I controlled my need to try and pull on my skirt to lengthen it.

Driving toward my apartment, "If OK with you, I'll invite myself to supper. Got anything in the fridge or do we need to stop?"

It was a big test - it had been all day. I definitely wanted to spend the evening close to her, but hated and was thrilled, at the same time, with the knowledge that she'd dominate me more and that I'd need to again be on my toes to do the shopping, embarrassing myself by walking, no, mincing about, in such an ungraceful manner. After mulling it around several minutes, "We'll need to stop at the supermarket. There's one about half mile on the right, Monica."

"You don't sound very happy, it's not every girl I accept a dinner date with. Don't you want me to have supper with you?"

"I do but..."

"But what?"

"You told me not to complain."

Looking at me, "I'm not a bitch. I'll prove it. I do know what your problem is." To prove that she really did, she reached one hand behind to the packages on the rear seat. Rummaging, by feel only, she came up with the shoes I'd worn earlier. "Here. You can change. That will make you feel better.

"You just had a little taste that I can and will reward you if you try really, really hard to be pleasing."

I felt a thousand percent better with only four-inch heels, not only because they didn't hurt so much and I could walk better, but because I wasn't making quite so much of a spectacle of myself, like before. I also felt better because of this small gesture that Monica did understand and did care. She went in with me, acting like just a friend, as we shopped for a steak dinner and the few other things that we needed. Outside again, "Let's go in here. Since I'm your guest tonight, I'll bring the wine." We entered the liquor store and together selected a couple of bottles of a wine we agreed upon to accompany our meal.

Standing in the line to check out, Monica again demonstrated her control over me, "Your seams are crooked. Straighten them, Cynetta." I begged her with my eyes not to make me do this. Just glaring, I knew that I must. "Much better. Check them often, I do mean often, and straighten them whenever needed, in public and at work."

Once home, Monica suggested, "Why don't you take your new things in your bedroom and change into something different, Cynetta. Let me see you in something short and really sexy. I'll not insist, but I'd like to see you in high heels, stockings and something short with different makeup and hair do. I'll put everything away in here." She headed toward my kitchenette with the groceries.

Though I wanted by then to get out of my new corset, I put it from my mind. It was uncomfortable, but I can't say that I was in any real pain from it, unlike in fantasy stories. As I undressed I thought again about Jayne's words about her customers that were maids and what they might be feeling, corseted tightly, as she said they'd be.

I needed to pee, badly. Despite tugging on them hard as I could, there was no way I was going to be able to lower the padded panties that had been placed so high up before I'd been corseted. With difficulty, I finally managed to work it out through a leg hole, but had to twist and shift to my side to aim in the bowl. Was she going to make me wear these at work? No, she said I'd not have to after Monday morning. I may have chickened out, if I knew then what I would have to wear in place of the quilted panties I'd on.

While sitting before my vanity to redo my makeup, I considered what I should wear to meet Monica's 'short and sexy' suggestion. I did want her to be pleased with me. After adding darker shadows, more eyeliner and mascara, I darkened my cheeks and applied a deep red lipstick. Debating how long it would take the polish to dry properly, I left my nails as they were.

I put on my pale, nearly white, pink angora sweater with a wide, deep vee neck to show lots of my attributes, my polished, black leather mini and one of my new belts, five inch wide, with three silver toned buckles. Which heels? Monica wanted them high; I couldn't bring myself to put on those I'd had to wear in the mall just then. She'd had me buy two other pair with six-inch heels, black patent and white calf ankle-strap classic pumps. No, if she insisted I'd change. I put on my plain, polished black calf, baby doll toed pumps with five-inch high heels.

*****

Before she'd left, a little before eleven, Monica had reminded me of every order that she'd issued so far and some 'suggestions' about how I might best spend my time, when not at the office. The wine we'd shared helped me get a good sleep that night, but my corset kept me mostly awake Sunday night, along with thoughts of my new boss and my new job.

About four AM I stopped fighting for sleep and got up. A long hot bath helped tremendously, but it wasn't long enough! Who in Hell would be calling me at this hour? She sounded like the beautician in the mall, but it was Monica, "Fer sure its early, Hun. Buts yas need times to get really attractive fer yer debut. Remembers yer orders, tight corset ova yer quilt panties, hair up, heavy makeups, high heels, pack yer lunch, Wears one a yer new outfits, fer sure. Hun, bees on time, bees obedient, and don't ya complain. Haves fun, Hun. Byes fer now, fer sure." After only saying hello, when I'd picked up, I'd no chance to say another word before she'd hung up.

My outfit laid out, I was corseted, in my quilted panties, stockings and bra, doing my makeup when the phone rang again. "Hun, eyes really thinks false eyelashes would look terriff, fer sure." and hung up again.

I'd never driven my car in more than four-inch heels and that hadn't been that easy, wearing the six-inch, white ankle-strapped pumps to try and work the three, small pedals, with my knees bumping the steering wheel because the seat just wasn't designed to go back far enough for a five foot eight inch girl in heels either. It had been a ten minute drive Friday afternoon, with rush hour traffic and being extra cautious, not to get stopped, dressed like I was, I just made it inside the office with the wall clock indicating exactly seven thirty.

The elevator had a sign, 'OUT OF ORDER'. I was completely out of breath and my chest heaved, unsuccessfully, to take a deep breath beneath my corset. I'd had to climb up the three flights to the top floor. The front doors were unlocked, but the offices seemed deserted and there was no response when I called to announce myself.

Not knowing what else I should to do, I sat in one of the chairs in the reception area to wait. My eyes were filled with something that hadn't been there on Friday, or was it there and I'd been just too preoccupied to notice it. The room itself was about twenty-four feet square, in the center now stood a floor to ceiling, glass enclosure twelve by twelve feet. Inside was the usual office furniture and fixtures, two - four drawer filing cabinets, a flat file, a low bookcase, a taboret, copier, fax machine, telephone switchboard consol, large screen, computer monitor and computer on a glass slab supported only by a chromed arm from the floor. Behind the slab was a stool that reminded me of a chrome mushroom with a pink top. Curiously, the enclosure also contained a large cheval mirror framed in French provincial style and a similarly styled set of four steps that went nowhere.

I realized that the files I'd first inventoried were mounted on chromed supports fully five feet off the white tiled floor. One would need to use the steps to access their contents. Pleased I'd figured them out, but why?

The door to Monica's office opened, breaking my thoughts. My calves protested the height of my heels, as I stood up. I'd practiced all Sunday morning trying to walk better, wearing six-inch spikes. "Good morning, Monica."

Her face was neutral, "'Morning. Come in my office." Waiting until I was in, she closed the door, walked behind her large desk and sat.

"Model for me, Cynetta."

I turned to show my outfit, tight knit black top identical to the other, cutout, white one I'd also gotten at the mall, a short pleated tennis skirt from the sporting goods store and the lightest shade of beige, full fashioned stockings she'd bought me. These still had very prominent, dark coffee seams, tops and heel accents. "Your seams are crooked. Straighten them then sit."

Ashamed that I'd neglected this order in my haste to be on time, I did as she'd ordered, placing my medium-sized, white calf purse in the chair next to me with my brown lunch bag. Despite having to compress the wadding between my thighs, I moved my legs together all the way to my toes. She smiled and nodded.

"I want you to sign an Employment Agreement before quitting time today. You may read it during the day. Be sure that you understand what you agree to, Cynetta." She opened a lower drawer in her desk, took out a gray steel box, unlocked it and took out a bank wrapped bundle of new money. Placing this in the middle of the desk pad, Monica relocked the box and returned it.

She rested her elbows on her desk and her chin on the tips of her red nails. "That is two thousand dollars. It can be your signing bonus, cash, tax-free. No one, but you and I, will know."

Standing, she walked to the bar on the side of her office, "Would you like some tea, Cynetta?"

"Yes, thank you."

It was a very large mug of hot tea that she extended, "Just Sweet & Low, if I remember your preference."

Coffee in her hand, she sat again. "I want to tell you some details of the job and a few conditions that I've not explained yet. Forgive me if I repeat myself. You answer the phones, 'Good morning, good afternoon', as appropriate, Passeto Graphics. This is Cynetta. How may I serve your pleasure today?’ You are to greet each person that enters with a big smile and a deep curtsey, you do know how to curtsey I trust? Same greeting as on the phone, substitute 'My name is Cynetta' instead of 'This is', Use the phone to announce them to the appropriate individual. If in doubt, ring me. There will be files to retrieve and put away, correspondence to type, mail to process, etc."

"Monica, I thought I was hired as a designer?"

"You can do that stuff after you show me you can perform more routine tasks." Her voice seemed harder. "You start as the receptionist.

"Stand up and remove your skirt." Smiling "I said you'd only have to wear those panties to report here this morning. Door's locked, so don't fret, we'll not be interrupted. I'll loosen your laces, so you can take them off."

Very anxious about being out of those stupid, ugly things, I did not think through much about anything I'd experienced, so far, that morning. Out of my skirt, Monica just slid my top up to expose the laces. First unclipping all the garters, which I couldn't properly wear underneath, she began undoing just the knot to the lower set of laces, got it loose enough to slip the panties down over the stockings and helped me out of them.

Walking to a closet, Monica returned with a pile of folded white. I was being really dense as she knelt, spread out a thick rectangle then folded two pieces of the same, fluffy cloth into rectangles about five inches wide, twelve or more long and three inches thick which she placed in the middle of the spread out one. "Lie down, on your back." Patting the folded ones, "Put your crotch right here."

It hit me like a ton of bricks. "You expect me to let you diaper me?"

"Precisely. Get down."

"No way. You're crazy, Monica."

"Kinky yes, crazy no."

Not rising, she reached and tossed me the stack of twenties from her desk. "Two thousand dollars will pay all your bills. You have a job now. How long... were you unemployed?

"What's the big deal? Your kinky boss wants you in diapers and it’s a very simple job she expects you to do. Get down here."

My mind was a mess. I could not refuse the cash that I gripped tightly. Kneeling on the carpet, I crawled to the spot and rolled over.

Her hand stroking the inside of my thigh, lovingly, caused an almost instant reaction in my crotch. She had to notice, but didn't comment. "Spread your legs.... Good girl."

Liberally sprinkling powder all over there, first, it took Monica only a minute to wrap the soft cloth into place, repositioning my member down, between my legs, and pin everything securely and tightly. It took much longer to get the tops up, under my corset and lying smooth. Patting my thigh, I thought she was finished and began to close my legs. "Stay, so I can put panties on you."

I had to raise my hips for the fleece lined, plastic baby pants to go under. Monica snapped the leg holes very high up and very tightly, creasing my flesh. Snapping their sides together, she was careful to get the plastic smooth, under my corset too, before doing the top snaps. "Up." slapping my thickly, padded bottom

While the quilted panties had been bulky between my thighs, all the cloth folded there felt and was, extreme. No way I could now begin to bring them close together. It seemed much easier for her to retighten my laces and tie them off than the struggle I'd had to do them earlier. Smoothing my top back into place, Monica retrieved my skirt. "Fix your stockings." My hips and ass seemed huge, as I worked them straight, again and fastened the tabs.

I wanted to protest when she took my purse and opened it. Putting the money in, she re-closed it, my keys now in her hand. "You get these after you finish, at quitting time."

"Come, I'll put you to work. Don't forget your purse and lunch."

Exiting her office, the purpose of the glass enclosure started to register on me for the first time. I was to be inside. I'd been too busy and hadn't surveyed everything about it completely before. Stopping in the middle of the side facing the double glass, entry door, Monica pointed to a small rectangle below the widow that had no glass. "In you go. Kneel down and squeeze through."

She WAS serious, there was no point in my blurting that question out. She'd taken my purse and my lunch to hold, so I was unencumbered with them. My car and apartment keys were in her desk and she'd locked the drawer. If I refused then what? I felt I'd been trapped and deceived, but what other, real choices did I, then, have? Slowly, I lowered myself on all fours and began to crawl through the opening.

It was just big enough if I twisted my shoulders, sideways, inched forward a bit, then twisted my hips. I had to massage and work the bulky cloth diapers under my skirt and panties, to get them through. As my hands were trying to do this, I heard the front doors open.

"Hey Monica. See you hired our new receptionist."

"Love her legs."

I felt more embarrassed then ever before in my life. They were laughing loudly. "Check her out later, Suzie, Cheryl. Let her get settled in her cage for a bit."

My diapers finally through, it was easy to draw my legs inside. The newcomers had left, but I could still hear them laughing at me! I wanted to cry, but fought not to. Monica passed my lunch bag and purse through. As I stood up, I saw her slide a glass panel in tracks across the opening from one side, closing the hole. Monica pressed a metal cylinder on her side of the panel, extending a pin through the glass of the cage until it clicked loudly - echoing off the glass walls. I'd been locked in!

Straightening, she spoke screened, through the three-inch hole at mouth level, there was a slot with a sill, a foot below this, like the drive up teller's widow at my bank. "There is a mirror, so you can check and keep your stockings straight, Cynetta. Do it often or I will be very displeased. You really do not want me to be displeased with you.

"I trusted Cheryl and Mai Ling to put everything in your office that you'll need to do your job after the crew left yesterday. Be sure to thank them for giving up their Sunday afternoon for you. Manuals for all the equipment are in the bookcase learn how they work before you need to use them, starting with the phone system." Grinning, "Enough chit chat, best get to work." I watched as she went in her office and quickly returned.

Placing my keying in the depression of the sill, "It is not my intent to take and keep anything of yours. Put them in your purse. And do straighten your stockings!" Monica again left.

I walked to the mirror, adjusted its tilt and turned to do my stockings. I wanted to hide. I wanted privacy! Just a little privacy. There was none! My brief skirt hiked up to my waist and twisting awkwardly, so I could see, due to my corset's restriction, I was redoing one of the rear garter tabs, when a male voice shocked me. "Great legs. I'm going to keep my eyes on you." His head was just inside the partially opened front door. He leered and was gone. I was on display for everyone!

Trying to keep from turning my back toward the front doors, I went to the bookcase and crouched to find what manuals might be there. Shit! I could read their spines, placed flat under a ton of binders on the bottom shelf! Squatting lower, my diapers pressing the heels of my shoes, I had to take out the heavy binders to get them then put everything away. A high-pitched giggle startled me, yet again, as I straightened up. It belonged to a very pretty and petite China Doll. She'd perfect white teeth behind her red, smiling lips.

I wasn't sure what to do. I was extremely embarrassed. I didn't know if she was a client or what? The girl didn't move a muscle. After a minute, I remembered that I was told that I should curtsey. Still unsteady on six-inch heels, I managed and forced a small smile. "Good morning. My name is Cynetta. How may I serve your pleasure today?"

I think she winked as she returned my curtsey, "Hi, Cynetta. I'm Mai Ling. I work here too."

It was a small relief that she was an employee, not a client. "I need the file for AJ's Fish House, please?" Her face didn't change, as if it was porcelain.

"Excuse me, I just started. Do you know where I can find it for you, Mai Ling?"

"It should be in the top drawer of the cabinet, on the left. Everything is alphabetical. Cheryl and I did try to make it as easy as we could for you."

I stared at the file drawer, at least a foot over my head and remembered the stairs whose purpose I'd questioned. Fortunately they were on casters and easily rolled over. Holding my hand against the cabinet to steady myself, I climbed up. Damn, I'd pushed them so close that I couldn't open the drawer! I had to descend, move them back and mount them again. I easily found the file folder and walked to the slot and pushed it through.

"Thank you, Cynetta. See you later." Still grinning, I watched her wiggle her cute butt covered in her satin, floor length Chinese dress and noticed, despite her tiny size, her pumps had heels that were at least equal to mine.

"Do you really think you should make it so obvious that you find Mai Ling attractive?" I turned around. Monica was at the rear of my cage; a small hinged panel was open above the bookcase. "Come here, Cynetta."

I minced a few feet, before remembering that I'd turned my prominent seams and heels to the door and tried to move kinda along the perimeter and sideways toward the back. Monica laughed, "There is no where in your office that you can hide yourself from wandering eyes. You are on display, so stop trying to keep anyone from gawking at your legs if they want to." She lifted a tray into the opening, "I made you some tea. I know you'll get thirsty. Let me know when you want more." I took the tray and started to curtsey my thanks. Monica closed the panel, locked it and was gone before I'd bent halfway down in a curtsey.

Mincing, waddling to the glass slab desk, I set down the tray, retrieved the manuals and moved to sit for the first time since being placed in diapers and being locked in. I tried smoothing my short tennis skirt under as I bent my knees to sit, short as it was. It was a wasted effort. Resting my plastic covered butt on the seat, I felt myself start to slip off the hard, domed surface. Reaching between my legs to steady myself, it felt very slippery, like greased or powdered Teflon. Trying all sorts of ways to balance, the only way that seemed to work was to spread my knees with my toes and heel tips on the floor. My stool was too high to sit on, even on the edge with my heels touching the floor too.

I poured a cup of tea, opened the manual for the switchboard and started reading the inserted page of everyone’s' extension. The system was fairly easy to comprehend, when I tried to slide my stool closer and found it was secured to the floor. Trying next to move the consol, I discovered it to be unmovable too. Later, one by one, I learned that almost everything in my office could not be moved at all. Perched precariously on my slippery stool, I could work the phones and the computer, but had to stand to use the copier, fax, and printer. I'd read the manuals for all the equipment - nothing seemed overly complicated. I'd found pens, message and regular pads in the taboret and set up my desktop.

Nothing else to do, I poured myself another cup of tea and turned on the computer. I just looked around, first at all the folders, realizing it must be networked, because it had twenty different drives. I opened the different applications software, some I knew, some I'd heard of and other I'd never heard of before.

When an older woman had come in ten minutes ago, she snickered at me, but said little more than her name and that she had an appointment with Monica at nine. I'd greeted her as I'd been told to and asked her to have a seat. It was only then that I realized that all, but the two chairs outside my glass cage, one on either side of the entrance, were placed around and behind my stool. Ms. Jacobi moved to seat herself directly behind, opposite the doors. There was no place to hide! How acutely aware of this fact I was becoming. Returning to my stool, I pressed Monica's extension.

"Yes, Cynetta?"

"Ms. Jacobi is here for her nine o'clock appointment, Monica." She hung up without replying.

It was several minutes before I heard her door open. Very faintly, because the only openings in my glass were the three inch hole and the slot below it, Facing front, I heard Monica's voice, "Good morning Helen. Good to see you again. Please excuse me, for just a moment?"

Monica was in front of me. "Get me her file, Cynetta." She seemed annoyed; I'd no clue why.

I got up, minced/waddled to the steps, pushed them before the other file cabinet, having noted that the first only went up to 'H'. Careful of my balance, I mounted the steps and retrieved it. Pushing it through the slot, Monica snarled, "You need a good talking to."

I'd not a clue? My mouth was in gear before thinking, "I am trying, hard, Monica."

"Not hard enough!" her voice was low, but cutting.

Gushing happiness, she walked behind and escorted her client into her office.

Concerned, but unable to reason her annoyance, I went back to the computer. "Hey, Cynetta!" It was Mai Ling's voice. I looked over. "Come here."

When I was in front of the mesh circle. "You need to pay more attention. If I were a client instead of an employee, Monica would be really pissed at you. Look up and check if anyone is here, often."

"She seems to be pissed at me already. I've no clue what I've done wrong, Mai Ling."

As I'd said this, the attractive red head came next to her. "Hi, I'm Cheryl. You must be Cynetta?"

I curtseyed. Cheryl wrinkled her lips, "Heard what you just told Kitten. Better get your head in gear, and fast, Girl."

The door behind them opened and two guys in suits came in. Cheryl and Mai Ling had both turned to look then moved, one to each side. Very nervous, I was upset; I curtseyed, "Good morning. My name is Cynetta. How may I help you?"

"I'm Jason, my manager, Tommie. We're expected."

I'd not a clue. The way their eyes closely examined me really unrattled what control I still processed. Cheryl, bless her, took control. "Hi, Tommie. Hi, Jason. I'm Cheryl. I'm the Assistant Manager. Monica appears to be busy. How may I serve your pleasure, this morning, please?" She'd wiggled her breasts and ass, as she'd spoken, exuding sex.

"This firm has been highly recommended, you did Twisted Kinkies last album cover."

"Oh, that was fun." Mai Ling giggled, wiggling like a snake in her long satins, her sex appeal oozing more than Cheryl's had.

"Would you like us to do an album for you too?" Cheryl took charge - it was obvious to me, anyway.

"That's what we came to discuss. Can we sit someplace to go over details?"

"Fer sure." Cheryl sounded just like the beautician and what I'd guessed Monica's voice on the phone when saying that. Entwining her arms through their elbows, she led them in back.

"Find me some rock album covers to show as examples, Cynetta."

"Just where am I supposed to find things like that. in here?"

"Don't act so much like the air head bimbo you obviously are, girl!" Mai Ling was obviously annoyed. "They're in the flat file up there." She pointed.

When I'd repositioned the steps and mounted them, "Third down. Pick some good ones."

It was crammed with blowup CD labels. I searched through and found several I knew. Returning to the slot, I slid them through. Mai Ling fanned through what I given her. Raising her eyes. "Get your fucking, ridiculously diapered ass into some gear other than neutral or reverse, slut. Start to think! You have a job, be thankful for that, and pray you don't get punished!" She turned and left.

Feeling very sorry for myself, totally unable to figure what I'd done, or not done to prompt that outburst, I returned to my stool.

I'd just perched, when the front door opened again. A guy in a three-piece pin stripe, sixtyish entered. I rose, minced to the hole, curtseyed and gave my greeting, again not saying it exactly as Monica had instructed me to. He leered, checking me out. "Tell my daughter, her Daddy is here, girl."

"Your daughter, Sir?"

"Monica! Tell her I'm here." I moved back to my desk, trying to keep my front facing him.

"Girl... what was your name? Cynetta, come back here... please?" He had lowered and softened his voice, a lot. He smiled nice to me as I approached. In a whisper, "Curtsey nice." I wanted to please him. I tried harder than ever to do a perfect curtsey, winning a nice warm smile.

"First day here?" I nodded. "You are doing fine..." he turned to look at the clock over the door, "Not even nine forty-five, not even two hours on the job. You are doing fine. My daughter and the other girls are going to be rough on you, I know. First day is the worst, trust me. You are a caged bird with sexy plumage. You are being displayed, so show off and strut your stuff. You are expected to perform in there. You can't hide your sexy display in there, so flaunt it, Cynetta.

"You are going to feel a helluva lot worse than you do now, it might get better, if you don't give in. Give up... you'll find your diapered ass out on the asphalt.

"Tell my daughter I'm here. Go!"

"Sir, she's with a client."

"Listen, Stupid. You go do what I told you to."

Very confused, I returned to the consol, not caring, rather not thinking, if he saw my seams. Perching, I pressed her extension. It rang nine times before she picked you, "You know I've a client, bimbo! You tell callers to call back and visitors they have to wait!" She hung up.

Reluctantly, I cradled the phone, raising my false lashes to his glare, "Call her back, tell her I'm here and don't let her give you any crap! Do it!"

Before she could speak, "Your father is here. He’s ins.."

Setting the receiver back. "Monica slammed the phone down, Sir."

Obviously fuming, he walked to a seat behind my cage. I was really upset! I was making myself miserable with self-pity. Perched on my stool, balancing on my toes to keep from slipping off its slippery surface, more than anything else, I wanted out!

"Wake up, Cynetta."

I raised my head to see Mai Ling before the hole. Getting off, I waddled toward her. "Yes?"

Her voice soft, I was surprised she had no accent; by her looks I had expected it. "You are supposed to curtsey to everyone." She said it in a whisper. I gave her one. "Get your head together, please?" Almost begging me to.

Cheryl, after showing the guys out, stood next to her. Mimicking an Oriental accent, "You listen, Kitten. kitten best. Listen her, Cynetta." I looked to the floor where her eyes moved. "Is not where they belong."

Moving over, my corset protesting, as I crouched to pick up my purse and lunch bag. "Put in proper place." Cheryl instructed. I placed my lunch and purse on the bookcase. "File cabinet, better place. L for lunch, P for purse."

"Come close, Cynetta." Cheryl turned very warm. "Kitten and I are going out on break, back in half an hour. You want anything?"

Lowering my eyes. "I need to go to the rest room."

Mai Ling giggled, "You're wearing it, Girl. You need to pee, so... pee."

"You do not get released for another seven hours. The receptionist here does not have bathroom breaks. None. There is nothing we know of that will get you out early. Accept that as fact, Cynetta. Kitten and I didn't make your rules, you do have to obey them!"

Together, they started to leave. Mai Ling was halfway out, paused and turned, "You can not hold it in all day. Pee when you need to. You'll flood the floor before your diaper can absorb all of it, if you try." The door swung closed after them.

Ms Jacobi was escorted out; Monica turned to me and smiled. "Good for you that you aren't proving yourself to be a completely, stupid, bimbo. They gave you advice, think about following it, Bimbo." She went to embrace and kiss her father, taking him into her office.

Staring about, I started to cry. My situation was as hopeless as I was helpless. I needed to pee, badly. Very reluctant of the consequences, I relaxed the proper muscles, feeling the warm liquid flow out into my diapers. I needed to stand up. Very much aware of what I was doing, I looked at my refection in the mirror, the sad, crying girl stared back.

My bladder empty, but my plastic panties full, I straightened my top and skirt and felt the wetness underneath. "I'm not a bimbo!" I muttered. Fetching my purse, I crouched down, after my corset told be, again, I couldn't bend.

Makeup repaired, best I could, I twisted and straightened my stockings. 'Ok, bird in your cage, show her you can take this.' I was afraid I might leak, so I moved very cautiously back to my stool.

When Cheryl and Mai Ling came back, Cheryl just flashed a smile and returned toward her office, Mai Ling came to the front hole, smiling to show her perfect teeth. I stood and curtseyed, waiting for her to speak. After a few minutes of facing each other, "Can I bring you something, Cynetta?"

"I know you can't bring me the keys. How about a glass of water, please?"

"Even if I got the keys and gave them to you, you couldn't use them to let yourself out of there. Think about it. Other than the tea or anything else Monica gives you, if you get thirsty, there is a water bowl in the floor under your desk. You may drink from it whenever you get thirsty."

For the first time, I looked there. Set into the floor under the front of the glass desk was a shallow depression, like a deep saucer, its rim flush with the tiles. It appeared to hold water. Unusually thirsty, I crouched down. "You have to do it from the front of your desk."

Shit! I didn't care. I minced in front, turned my back to the entrance and knelt. My lips could reach the surface. Lapping up the warm water like a puppy, I noticed it refill from a small tube on the opposite rim. My thirst satisfied, I straightened and began to walk back to my stool. "She is learning, Daddy."

"I see. She has great legs, but she obviously hasn't learned to keep her sexy seams straight."

Damn! Damn! Damn! Not caring what they saw, I went to the mirror, twisted over my shoulder and re-straightened my stockings.

Alone again, I took the Employment Agreement out of my purse, pausing to hold more money in my fingers than I'd ever held in my hand before at one time. I read all four pages of the fine print. It began specifying my eight dollar fifty cent an hour wage, no benefits and went into the dress code, grooming code and working conditions I was currently locked into and expected to agree to. The last page and a half outlined a detailed demerit system for about every infraction imaginable, from tardiness and improper grooming, to disrespect, disobedience and recalcitrance. No specific punishments were given, but it did ask that I work off all demerits by accepting punishment. Buried in the middle of the document had been a secrecy/non-disclosure agreement. The agreement specified in its last paragraph that the duration of the agreement was one hundred eighty-three days and then renewable in three hundred sixty-six day increments.

Having read all of it once and a few sections a couple of times, I folded it and placed it back in my purse. The money again drew my attention. Two thousand dollars, tax-free, would pay off all of my outstanding bills and leave over seven hundred dollars to do with as I wished. Monica had told me after our dinner that she'd changed her mind about the clothes she'd bought for me. All I had to do was make it through her thirty-day trial and that debt would be erased.

I had to greet and deal with three more visitors before noon. About five past, Monica was in front. I stood and curtseyed. "Come here." I waddled over. "I'm leavening for lunch. Most of the others go out, too. That will leave you here in charge." She laughed. "That's right, we don't lock the doors and you'll be here. in your cage..., all alone. Don't fret about it too much, Girl. No one can get in there any more than you can get out.

"Eat your lunch, water when you wish, keep your makeup fresh and do try, very hard, you have been really bad about it, do try to keep your seams straight. Think you can do that?

"I may be late. Behave." Monica left through the doors. Cheryl and Mai Ling left with only a giggle at me. Suzie was the only one still in the office; she came out shortly after and paused leaning with the door half opened. "Want me to bring you anything, Cynetta?"

"No thanks, I brought my lunch."

"See ya."

I was picking at my baloney sandwich when I sensed the door open; I was halfway up when Mai Ling entered. I curtseyed and straightened. "It's just me. You may sit." She'd a bag from Micky D's. As I perched again, she pulled over the chair from the other side of the door, placed the bag on it, tearing it open she sat down to eat her Big Mac and fries. With her beautiful eyes sparkling at me Mai Ling started to talk between small bites. "I'm thirty-three, don't look it, do I? Most guess I'm thirteen if I'm not made-up and in jeans. My Grandparents are from Canton. I've never been farther than Chicago. Didn't like it there. Too cold in the winter. I'm single, have my own house, fully paid. Graduated with a Bachelor’s in Applied Arts from Brandis. No S.O., at this time. I've two golden retrievers for company." She munched a handful of fries and sipped her soda. "How about you? Want to tell me?"

"What would you like to know?"

Almost spitting her drink. She laughed hard. "Tell me something I don't know or haven't figured out yet, Cynetta."

"You want to know why I let Monica dress me like this and let her lock me in here, to humiliate and embarrass myself?"

Mai Ling's smile vanished, "Honestly I don't. I've that figured." I know my expression signaled I didn't believe her. "Don't underestimate me, Cynetta. Big mistake most make seeing the cute, fragile China Doll image I love to project. Cold hard facts, you want to hear me say them?"

I nodded. "There was a guy here, Friday afternoon for an interview. Strangest thing, he drives a car exactly like the red Triumph that is parked next to my car today. It was there before I got here today and so were you. You are a guy that likes to, wants to, be a girl." She munched down more fries. "You probably needed a job, bad. Monica made you an offer. She's a great boss, has great business acumen and this place turns big bucks. She is also a super kink, more than any other I've met, but she doesn't play it with the rest of us.

"This place needs a full time receptionist like you need another hole in your head. Monica's handled all that herself for the four years I've worked for her. Bet you haven't been very busy, so far, today.

"I don't need my degree to figure you were hired as one of her new toys.

"Cheryl and I were over her place yesterday and told, pretty much, what she's up to. Monica never made her kinkiness a secret. We know what you two did Saturday and the dress code you are expected to comply with. Suzie must have known her plans before, she designed your office, six months ago." Wiping her hands, Mai Ling bundled up the empty papers, tossed them away and pushed the chair back. "So... now tell me something I don't know."

"I'm twenty. Have a small apartment. Not much else exciting about me, you haven't guessed."

"You happy... wrong question. You are feeling pretty sorry for yourself and have been all day. Just erase all that and think just happy thoughts. Promise you'll feel much better."

"What should I be happy about?"

Mai Ling gave me a dirty look before answering, "You are pretty, nice figure, terrific legs. You did your makeup really nice and super nails. I love them. You're wearing attractive clothes and great sexy shoes. What else?

"There's an attractive girl spending her lunch hour talking to you, at least most think I'm pretty. You have a job, while you didn't last week. That puts food in your belly and nice, healthy, pretty colors into your complexion. You've found a woman, Monica that will make some of your dreams come true. You just have to play her game by her rules. You have a private office, Cheryl and I share one that's smaller than yours'."

I laughed, "Look around, Mai Ling, there's nothing private about this."

"Would you rather be locked in a windowless closet? There's one in the hall. Most receptionists have very little more privacy than you do. You're just looking at only the negatives." She paused to glare. "Don't give me any 'But's' about it."

I stifled my rebuttal. "Tell me some more positives... please?"

"You work with some great girls, like me." Giggling. "Cheryl is lot of fun, great sense of humor. She'll tease you, though. If she isn't teaseling, she doesn't like you. Suzie is reserved. She's a Master's in Engineering or Architecture, I forget which. Want some problem solved, she'll have a no BS solution. Suzie doesn't kid much, but has a great repertoire of jokes.

"You haven't met Tyra or Cindy yet, they're at a client's today giving a presentation. Tyra's a knockout, looks, carries herself and dresses like the supermodel she once was. Cindy's like a giggly cheerleader in Jr High. Great fun to be with, but has a deep practical side much like Suzie's."

Suzie and Cheryl came back, laughing. Cheryl smiled and Mai Ling excused herself to go back to work. I waited for Suzie to leave; instead she came close to the glass. It seemed best if I stood. I curtseyed, winning a smile. "Come here, please, Cynetta?"

Facing her through the glass, "Can I give you some advice?" I nodded. "Loosen up and stop feeling miserable. You'll find out, the hard way, just how miserable Monica can make you if you don't start to behave."

"How have I been misbehaving?" I asked defensively.

"A receptionist is supposed to greet everyone with a big smile, one that she makes look real and genuine, even if it's forced. You project your self-pity more than you probably realize. Also you are expected to present a nice, proper appearance. Before you ask, I'll bet my salary you haven't checked your seams lately." Not hesitating, she left for her office.

There was only one other visitor that afternoon who quickly left when I informed her Monica was not in. Long before quitting time, I was clock watching, my corset was killing me and I was very afraid that if I moved the wrong way, my panties would leak.

My three coworkers came through, just past five o'clock. Cheryl and Mai Ling waited by the door while Suzie came to the glass. Despite my corset and full diapers, I gave her a good curtsey and my best smile. She gave a little curtsey and returned my smile. "The last fifteen minutes, knowing we've gone home, will be tough. Just hang in, Cynetta. Cheryl, Kitten and I are going out for a few drinks and a bite. You're invited." Before I could refuse. "I'm not taking no for your answer. You need to change your diaper. Don't even think that Monica is going to get her hands dirty changing you. If you ask her nice, she'll give you clean ones.

"We'll wait in the parking lot and I'll help you."

"Thanks, but..."

"But what? You want to rush home and get out of your corset? I told you, 'no' is not an acceptable answer. You will join us tonight, and you will have a good time." They left.

 

Finally, at sixteen past five, Monica's door opened. I rose, curtseyed and smiled. She eyed me, motioning that I turn around. "Took you long enough, but I'm pleased to see they're straight." Monica unlocked the gate and slid it open. I resisted getting down, just stood straight, holding my purse, waiting. "Very good. You may come out now."

I crawled through, taking special care as my hips squeezed through so as to try not to squish their contents out. Without being told, first thing I did when standing was check then straightened my seams.

With a small grin, "You may go home now. Tomorrow morning, I expect you in your office, before seven thirty." She turned away.

"Monica... may I please have clean diapers?"

"Very, very good, Girl. I didn't expect you to figure it out so quickly." I was dense, but didn't dare ask her to explain. She returned with a big pile of diapers piled on top with two more pair of the plastic pants. "I expect you to do your own laundry. See you in the morning."

My new friends were waiting. Suzie had a conversion van which she'd pulled next to my car. As I approached she opened the side door and motioned me in. Mai Ling and Cheryl followed inside. They'd my skirt off, top up, and hands were loosening my corset. I panicked. They were about to see my anatomy. I started shaking.

Mai Ling knelt to face me, "Its OK, Cynetta. I already told them." Her eyes redirected to my crotch then returned to mine.

"OK by me." Suzie announced as she stripped off the panties. The soggy diapers came off quickly and Cheryl and Mai Ling dried me with clean ones. "We'll need to get powder to keep here, for next time. Sorry there's none for tonight. Lie down."

I was re-diapered more quickly than Monica had done it, with six hands doing the job as a team. Kneeling up, Suzie started to retighten the lower laces. "Could you leave them loose, please?'

"I could, but I wasn't going to. Now, because that was really a complaint about wearing this," she tugged extra hard, "I'm going to tighten them more than they were. You've got to learn that complaints, especially about your tight corset are completely unacceptable."

*****

I got home by ten. I'd refused any alcohol, all evening, not wishing to be carded with no ID saying my appearance matched my license, not being of legal age, not wanting to be in wet diapers and wanting to keep enough control not to pass out as soon as I got home. It took me time, because of my long nails, to undo the tiny buckles on my ankle straps and get out of my heels, finally! Carefully I removed my stockings then attacked my corset laces. Removing my corset was manageable and provided tremendous relief, as my body expanded. I was a bit startled at the ugly red welts imprinted from every stay, seam and crease. Those where my diapers and plastic panties had been trapped underneath were the worst. Despite my tiredness, I knew a long hot bath would ease some of the pains and I really did need to wash, after wearing diapers all day.

I'd no good place to put the soggy mass in the plastic bag or the damp ones I'd just removed. I really didn't want to take the time to do laundry, but knew it was what had to be done. I almost tossed my stockings in too, but had the presence to take them in the tub to wash by hand, as I bathed.

I was extra careful to thoroughly dry, the welts really hurt when I'd washed and toweled off then applied the medicated powder I'd picked up on the way home.

I slept very well, but the damn phone woke me. Shit! Three AM! Four hours sleep was not enough! "Hey, Hun. Yer wake up call. Rise and shine!"

"Monica, please? I need more sleep."

"Fer sure, Hun'. Yas, really think four hours is enough to get yerselves pretty? Eyes want yer coif differents ten days befer, and yer nails a differents color ta. Nots the sames two days in a row. Gets it? Sees ya." She hung up.

Reluctantly I had to agree, if she wanted a different look each day, I'd need that much time, or more.

My corset hurt as soon as I'd hooked the busk, because of the welts. Knowing I had to, I tightened the laces, as much as they'd been. It was a mental and physical struggle, because it hurt and my nails didn't make it easy.

Wearing a short, pouffed sleeve white blouse, my new black jumper, black stockings and my five inch black heels, I arrived at seven eighteen. Again, the front doors were unlocked, but no one seemed to be there. Not waiting for more instructions, I got down and crawled into my office, remembering to straighten my seams as my first priority.

The twist I'd done with my hair had been my first attempt and looking in the mirror to do my stockings, I noted it needed to be tighter and with a lot more pins. I'd just finished when a voice startled me. "Hi."

Shaking, I remembered to curtsey and greet the very tall, light skinned, black woman on the other side of the glass.

"I guess you're the new girl. I'm Tyra Shores. Let me have a close look. Model." I turned around slowly then managed to waddle to the opening, a lot better in the shorter heels that I was wearing. "You're quite attractive, Cynetta."

"Thank you. You are attractive, also." She'd all the qualities of a supermodel that Mai Ling said she'd been. The fine wrinkles in her face indicated that that career had been more than a few years ago.

"Would you like me to get you anything? Coffee or something?" I declined. Tyra crouched, some, slid the panel closed and pressed the lock.

"There you go, all locked up, safe and secure until Monica lets her pet out.

"I'll be in my office. See you later, Pet."

It was five minutes later that Monica came in. After greeting and modeling, "I was easy on you yesterday. I'll start being tougher today. First, you look nice. I'm pleased you diapered yourself before coming to work, be happy you did that. And, I'm pleased that your seams are straight to start.

"When I said I was easy on you yesterday, your first thought, probably, was that I wasn't. Fair. My major complaint was that you did not check your stockings and adjust them often enough. Correct that deficiency.

"Did you sign your Employment Agreement?"

"Not yet. May I have some questions answered concerning specifics, please?"

"Depends. What specifics?"

"It stated I agree to punishments for the demerits. What punishments will you administer?"

"Specifically, your request is denied. Generally, you'll be punished as I see fit. It won't necessarily fit the crime or infraction, but you can count on it. I'm not going to tell you what punishments mean. I will tell you, when you are being punished and what you did to earn it.

"Are you going to sign the Agreement now?"

Despite everything and not answering my question. I'd already made up my mind to sign it. Taking it from my purse, I did and passed it through the slot. She smiled at me.

"Maybe it would be a good idea if you set a schedule for yourself to stop whatever you're doing and check your seams, say every fifteen or twenty minutes. I might not find them crooked, as often.

"You got anything else?"

"Monica, other than answer the phones and greet the few visitors, what else do you want me to do in here?"

"First off, stop thinking, 'in here', in your office, like there's something out of the ordinary or special about it. Sure there is, but that's not my point. You have a nice, big office, bigger than most people, its got nice, big windows, a lot don't, you have it all to yourself and don't have to share it with anyone else. OK?

"To answer your question. Your job title is 'receptionist'. A receptionist's primary job is to answer the phones and greet the visitors, to receive them in the office. You are the first impressions one gets of my company. I expect polite, pleasant behavior. I want you to be attractive. Either on the phone or in person, I want you to project the feeling that you really are happy that they called or came in and you'll do anything they want, even if you can't, to help them and make doing business with us a pleasure so that they continue to pay your wages. Work on that important part of your job, Cynetta.

"There's always filing and there is going to be copying, correspondence, reports to prepare, etc. Still, it isn't going to be enough to fill your ten hour and forty-five minute workday, if it does, I'll see to it that it does not. I was always a bit miffed when I saw bimbos sitting at their desks with nothing better to do than brush their hair, freshen their lipstick, paint their nails, whatever, but I'm a woman, guys seem to have a different opinion, at least some do. I'm making it clear right now, I require you to do those things. Am I clear?"

"Yes. Monica. Yesterday the others referred to me as a bimbo and it seems you just did. Is that what you consider me, a bimbo?"

She didn't immediately answer, she scanned me through the glass, "You answer yourself. Think how you are dressed, what your hair and makeup look like, the way you display yourself, the do nothing, job you have, how you spend your work days, or will. If you knew another girl fitting in with all that, what word might you use? Consider that there are a few, far less complimentary words used to describe some girls; they really don't fit at all. Sex toy or sex object on display, satisfy you better?"

I was not happy. I wanted to cry. Instead, I fought for some control and managed to just stand still, only trembling a little. One thing I knew I must not do, no matter what I thought or how much I wanted to debate this was, I should not get any deeper into this debate. I would not win! I kept my eyes down, though I trembled, thinking hard on all of this, I tried not to move.

"Nothing to say... Cynetta?" When she spoke after a couple of minutes, Monica said, just, my name, softly.

I thought of something to say, it was really silly, later I didn't know why I did it. I raised my hands and pressed my fingertips through the slot. "Like my nails, today, Monica?"

In a few seconds hers were pressing between each of mine, "I think mine are prettier, but I've had a lot more practice and go to the salon once a month. Then..." moving her fingers back, a little, "yours are longer. I don't know, maybe yours are just as nice? I think I'd have had to concede defeat if you'd asked that question yesterday, though."

She withdrew and I put mine at my sides. "Tell me, they looked great yesterday, why'd you redo them?"

Monica was trying to be nice. I pushed my luck. "I don't know, hard for you to understand, but past two nights at three in the morning, there's some... some voice I hear. Talk about me being a bimbo, you should hear her, 'fuurr surre'. Anyways, dis bimmbooo's voice tells me, ya know, like I'ms to redo mys nails. Ferre surrre, ya's knows, Right?! Hauh? I'ms likes sposed, do get all pretty, fer work and sposeds to haves nuff time ta do mys nails, real prettys too? Right. Hun? Ya wants a bimbo? Yas soulds hears her."

Monica gave a genuine laugh, "Come on, Cynetta, this voice can't really sound like that?"

"I guess you'd have to hear it."

"You understand my rules for you, what I expect and want?"

"I'd like more details, but I do think I've got the essence, Monica."

"Want me to ease up on you?"

"I'm not sure of the proper response to your question."

"Explain?"

"Stop changing the rules, please?"

"I heard that. Hears ya, Hun. I'll stop waking you up and messing in your head for a while. That's my half, your half - start acting like the receptionist I want. I have given you enough hints and orders."

Abruptly switching gears, "How long did it take you to get your nails looking like they did, yesterday?"

"Maybe four hours, I didn't time it, but it takes about that long?"

"Four hours, even three? You aren't lying, I can tell. What takes you that long?"

I put my nails back through the slot. "Make you a bet, Monica. My polish will still look almost this good three days from now, doing nothing to them. If yours look as good as mine, I lose, if you don't touch yours either."

"You sound too confident, no bet. I don't care what the stakes you'd propose would be. No bet. I'm not a good gambler, I hate to lose. So, I seldom bet when I might lose."

"You bet on me?"

"Look at me, raise your pretty eyes." I did. "Do not take this wrong, please? I just don't like to lose debates anymore than bets. You are in there, dressed like you are, wearing diapers and can't get out until I decide. You let me do every and anything I wanted to, to you. So far, there is not one single thing, I've done, that you did not let me do, or do to yourself. You let yourself be my toy. There is nothing, oh maybe I could have said some magic words to stop you, I do have a few, but I've done nothing and would have done nothing, physical, to prevent you at anytime from saying 'no' and walking away.

"Kinda like paying for a night out, a play, concert, whatever, sometimes dinner is fab, the play is a Tony, and sometimes it's barf and a flop. Buy a ticket and take a chance, no refunds. It's the ticket price or dinner tab, entertainment. Yes, I took a chance on something promising to be good, more often it's not, but it sure isn't like blackjack, poker or horse races.

"You say, 'Monica, I quit. I've had enough.' Say it, I'll open your cage and you are free to leave. Contract canceled, you keep the signing bonus, and you keep what I bought you. I'll never take you back."

She'd opened her purse, "Monica, please don't open the door...? I'm not going to say that, now."

"I'm going to give you just one more chance to say those specific words, 'Monica, I quit.' If I do not hear them, when I give you that one chance, you don't get another for one hundred and eighty-three work days." She grinned when my head snapped up. Laughing, "Reread your Employment agreement, that is the exact wording, my toy.

"This conversation has developed in a much different direction than I'd intended." She shrugged. "We'd still have had it... sometime.

"The other girls were told to go easy on you, I'm loosening their reins. You can interact with any of them; develop your own relationships, as you wish, here or off duty. Some may tease you a lot, some can be really friendly, and I place no restrictions on you or them any longer. At work, none can touch you or give you anything more than can pass through these little holes or the slot. At all times while you are on duty in there, you are required to project and perform as the receptionist I want, disobey and you will be punished. Don't think you won't be, you will, physically and psychologically. You will be, Cynetta.

The rest of the staff had come in. Cheryl rode with Mai Ling and they'd just said 'Good morning,' while Monica had been still talking to me. After Monica had left, Suzie came to work, she paused, motioning me to model after I'd curtseyed and greeted her, never saying anything.

Cindy, from Mai Ling's description, I guessed it was her. She was a couple of minutes late, entering with her shoulder and head turned up to check the time on the clock above the entrance, "Damn!" Cindy hadn't even glanced in my direction, as she hurried toward her work area.

The others, who dressed very nicely, all in skirts or dresses and heels, were conservative compared to Cindy, silver gray satin, pouffed, mini dress with white petticoats bouncing, As she'd gone down the hall I couldn't help notice that her, slightly chubby, short legs were sheathed in stockings, patterned just like mine only shiny white, with similar heel accents, above the ankle straps of the white baby doll pumps. Her heels, had to be a full six inches, but appeared higher, on her smaller feet. Though limiting her to quick, tiny, mincing steps, Cindy managed them extremely well, a hundred times better than I could at the time.

Before eight-thirty, I'd only one call for Tyra to answer. I'd all of the machines on, had read two routine faxes that had come after hours and placed them in the slot for Monica. In the wall of my office, opposite its entrance, are ten slots, next to the locking pass-through. These would let me place things in their mailboxes'. Below these, was a chute that emptied into a clear plastic bin, so anyone could drop things intended for me, inside, that were too large to go through the front slot.

Outside, at comfortable, hip level for them, the opening to this chute was constructed like a postal drop so it blocked the chute when they opened it. This was intended to discourage much, other than paperwork, from being given to me, or to prevent any actual contact. The slots where I could place their paperwork were only wide enough for my hand to enter no further up than my wrist. The chutes there slopped down to their bins on the other side a foot below. Again, no one could touch me or pass in anything, as neither could reach through it, unless they had rubber arms.

No one had used these the day before and, being a postal holiday, there'd been no mail delivery. The full significance of all the design features wasn't lost on me.

I'd checked my seams three times; the black stockings seemed to stay in place much better than the beige one I'd worn, when Monica called from behind me. The panel was open. "I fixed you a pot of tea. Here."

I'd resolved to keep my fluid intake to a minimum, to help me from wetting, too much. I especially resolved to give up tea due to its diuretic qualities, but took the tray and politely thanked her. As I moved to set it down on my desk, "I'm pleased your seams are straight, Cynetta. Much better."

Facing, I curtseyed. She'd retrieved the faxes. Before reading them, she dropped them in the chute. "I hate thermal fax paper. Copy all faxes, clip the originals to the copies behind, before distributing them." Her stern glare motivated me to retrieve them. I had to turn my back to the entrance to do so, exposing my rear.

Monica had locked the panel and stood waiting, until I placed the papers in her slot, again. "Inform my staff there is a meeting in my office at nine. Cynetta, when in meetings, or anyone is in my office, handle everything and do not disturb us."

*****

 

Monica's Office

All of the eight TV monitors that were focused on Cynetta were on, in the wall unit that faced her desk and her staff had seated so they'd a good view. Not the inexpensive black & white security cameras that provide such terrible images, these cameras, located for the best angles were high-resolution color, on twenty-one screens. From the sliding panel in her desk, she could re-aim and zoom any of the cameras. Stereo sound was provided with the images.

"Now that Tyra and Cindy are back, I thought we'd have a little meeting about our new receptionist. You already know my tastes tend to be more than a bit bizarre... along with a few of yours. No need to discuss that more this morning. I've given you each a sheet summarizing the main details and working conditions for her. Quickly, her hours are seven thirty to five fifteen. She's locked in there the entire time, no breaks; I'll control the key. First one of you in, after she's in her office, is to close and lock her entrance. She's wearing her toilet. She's to dress and groom, as pleases me. She's tightly laced in a real corset. Other than work stuff, none of you are permitted to give her anything, no food, no drink, no little presents, nor tokens of affection, here, at work. Do what you want, outside. That's the gist, Questions?"

"Suppose there's a real emergency, fire or something, Monica?"

"I'd not thought of that. Good point, Cindy. Suggestions?"

"We could get a wall box, like a fire alarm pull with a glass. Put the key inside and use it, if ever necessary, by breaking the glass."

"Excellent, my engineer. Any better, or refinements."

"If one of us has to do that, better make extra sure, first, that there's a real emergency and be able to justify it to Monica."

"Cindy, sometimes I think you are as kinky as I am." They all laughed.

"More questions?" The screens showed Cynetta curtseying to two who had entered.

"She needs to perfect her posture, carriage and curtseys. I'll instruct her, if you wish, Monica."

"I'm sure that with your background, you'll do a good job, Tyra. Thank you.'

"You told me yesterday, you were going to start a demerit system, perhaps you could explain it to all of us?'

"Right. I wrote that into her contract. I'll provide each of you with copies and welcome changes and additions. We can discuss it, at our next meeting.

"As you can see, she's presenting herself as a complete bimbo in there. I want that reinforced. I want all of you; I'm requiring it, to treat her as a real bimbo at work, even better if you do it to her off hours, but I think some of you will not want to. I want you to tease her about just about everything, talk to her like she's a complete air head - she actually is quite intelligent."

Suzie snorted, "We went out with her last night, she's no bimbo, Monica."

"I didn't expect you, Suzie, to go along with that suggestion, not your nature. Anyone else have a problem with that? let me hear it."

"I sure don't. Most real bimbo's are blondes with big hair. Why don't you make her blonde?"

"Or redheads, Cheryl!" Cindy was the only blonde and Cheryl the only redhead in the group.

"Even if you don't make her a blonde... or a redhead, Monica, you should have it teased into really big hair instead of all tight and up like some prim librarian."

"Rework an image with different ideas for her hair on your computer, Tyra. In fact, let me see some ideas along that line from all of you."

They paused to watch another client enter. As he seated, Jerry, the regular mailman brought in the mail. Cynetta directed him to the chute. "Her left stocking is crooked," observed Mai Ling. She started to laugh, "I just got a wild idea. Jerry always looks at all of us, never misses a chance to check us out completely."

She didn't continue, but giggled. "Let's hear what your thought, Kitten?" Cheryl questioned.

"Yes, I'd like to hear it." Suzie was participating.

"OK," more laughs. "Your bimbo is to check her seams, every time Jerry or any other delivery person goes to the mail drop. It will be a nice show for them."

Cindy expanded, "Make her do more than just check them, Monica. Make her put on a real show, slow and really sexy. Fully unclip her garters on one stocking and start at her ankle, work her hands up all the way to the top, smoothing her stocking and re-garter it."

"Not just one, both! One at a time."

Monica squirmed; the feeling in her panties had been building since the meeting had started.

"Tyra, technically you are the Assistant Manager. I'd like you to tell her, instead of me."

"Monica you said earlier that you wanted us to tease her. Do we have any restrictions about that?"

"Only one, Cindy." Monica looked around. "Some of you already know, for sure, or have guessed that Cynetta is not a GG. I never and I do mean N-E-V-E-R, do I want that subject raised either with her or even amongst yourselves. It is a topic non discussionada."

"Anything else, for now?" They stood to leave. "Suzie stay a moment. Here's what I want you to do...."

*****

When their meeting broke up, there were three guys waiting. All had elected to sit behind me for a good view and I felt particularly embarrassed by the way the mailman had leered at me. It seemed he took an extra long time to put the mail through the chute.

Each of them stopped in front for any messages, one of the clients was for Mai Ling, one for Suzie and one for Cindy. Tyra waited until each and the clients had left the room. Suzie took hers back while Tyra stood still, waiting, toward the wall and just watching.

With the lobby empty, but for her, I looked, she didn't seem to move then went and perched on my stool. After balancing, she came to the window. I knew to stand and curtsey. "May I do something for you, Tyra?"

"The proper words, I believe are, 'What may I do to please you, Tyra or serve your pleasure?'" She waited until I'd said them with another curtsey. "Your stockings are crooked. You've not checked them since before our meeting. Monica has needed to speak to you several times about this inattentiveness. You need to learn this lesson, bimbo."

"Please don't call me that? My name is Cynetta."

"You are a complete airhead, that means bimbo to me. You can't even follow simple instructions like checking that your stockings are straight, even after being told, a number of times to do so. Proves to me that there's nothing in your bubblehead, but empty space. Here is a lesson you are to perform every single day from now on, Bimbo!

"When our mailman, or any other delivery person, comes in, you are to do the following..." She outlined the show I was to perform.

I was struggling not to cry, hearing what I had to do. Tyra didn't let up when she'd finished that. "You were hired with a job to do, why were you just sitting there doing nothing when our meeting ended?"

"There was nothing to do, Tyra..."

"Nothing to do? You really are more of a bubble brained Bimbo than I'd guessed." She pointed behind me; I looked at the bin, full of mail. "Bimbo, don't you think that... Ooops!, I forgot I'm talking to a stupid Bimbo, incapable of thinking on her own. Step by step. One. Mailman comes in, Two. Bimbo curtseys and greets him, Three. Bimbo puts on a show. Four. Bimbo curtseys, Five. Mailman leaves, Six. Bimbo curtseys, Seven. Bimbo retrieves the mail, Eight. Bimbo carries mail to her desk, Nine. Bimbo opens the mail, Ten, Bimbo sorts the mail, Eleven, Bimbo deposits mail in the appropriate slots, Twelve. Bimbo checks her stockings, Thirteen. Bimbo straightens her stockings, Fourteen. Bimbo can return to doing her, other, Bimbo things.

"Is that clear, Bimbo?"

"Yes, Tyra. It is clear."

She shook her head no. "How many steps?"

"Ah... fourteen."

"What are they, by the numbers?" I felt so stupid, hearing her talk to me like she was that I started to cry.

"Oh poor Bimbo, crying because she is so completely... stupid!

"When you finish your little, baby cry, Bimbo. Fix your makeup and do the mail." Raising her voice, "Bimbo, I'm talking to you! Look at me, when I talk to you!

"Bimbo, when you have done all of that. You will write, in very neat penmanship, the fourteen steps I told just you... one hundred times and put them in my box. You had better write neat, get them all down correctly and in the correct order."

I just managed to curtsey and return to my stool. I fell off in a heap because my eyes were closed, crying as hard as I was, because of how Tyra had treated me and for no good reason, either! Damn Bitch!

I caught myself, lying on my belly. I sobbed, beating the tiles with an overwhelming feeling of helplessness. My senses returned, but getting up from that position proved difficult, as my tightly corseted body didn't want to let me use my muscles as they were accustomed to. Besides that it hurt, letting me be reminded of just how much.

Through tear filled eyes, I found the presence to straighten my stockings. I'd a wide run halfway down, it grew longer, almost the full length on the front of my right leg as I smoothed and straightened the stocking.

Fortunately, there was no one in the lobby to witness my display. I knew my makeup needed a big repair job, major reconstruction. I'd a tiny mirror in my compact, but, while it might do to touch up my lips, the cheval mirror was my only real option and I'd either have to kneel to do it, or stand. Despite the picture I'd present, I opted for the former so I could lay out my makeup on the floor and get serious about fixing my face.

I had to wipe off all the mascara and liner that had run down my cheeks with the blush and foundation in the process. Carefully reapplying it, I made a note to check into the waterproof, tear proof types of eye makeup. I'd never used them after an few initial tries in my early teens, as they were to difficult to remove after playing, especially if I had to hurry to avoid being caught by my sister or my parents.

Finished, I can't say it looked as good as it had that morning, but I considered it acceptable. Everything back in place in my purse, I stood and re-straightened my stockings. 'Maybe no one will notice your run.'

"Get real, Cynetta!" I murmured it out loud. Returning to my desk, I sat, perched, noticing then that Monica was sitting in a chair beside the entrance and Tyra occupied the other. Her lips spread in a wide smile, Monica went in her office without a word.

Tyra stood before the glass - I curtseyed and minced closer. "I'll bet you don't have another pair of stockings, do you, Bimbo?"

"No, just the ones I've on."

"Bubble Brain." her voice was contempt. "Add this to your assignment, one hundred times write, 'Bubble Head Bimbo will have a fresh pair of stockings in her purse at the start of her day." She left, but entered Cindy's office, not her own.

Cindy was soon before me with her purse. Opening the really huge, soft, white leather bag, she seemed to search, pulling only part way out, one by one, plastic encased packs of stockings and sliding them back in until she'd found what she wanted. I watched her sort through eight packages before pulling one fully out and passing it through the slot. "I can't match those you've on, today. These will have to do. I expect them replaced, exactly, no substitutes, tomorrow morning, Bimbo."

I'd the new stockings and curtseyed, "Thank you, Cindy."

"If Tyra hadn't ordered me, I'd have let that display on your leg stay. Tomorrow morning."

Two clients, both men, came in a few minutes apart before I could change. Both wanted to see Monica, so one would be waiting, at least several minutes. I thought through my options and what I really should do in the situation I found myself. I must change my stockings, even if he watched my show. Trying to get some composure and the necessary courage, my corset preventing any attempt to take a deep breath, I slit the tape with my nail and took them out.

These, too, were black, but not quite as sheer as the ones I'd ruined. Slipping out of my pumps, thanking myself they'd no straps to undo, I released the tabs and slipped my stockings off. I paid attention to rose one, very careful of my nails, bent my knee, pointed my toe and began working it up while balancing my diapered butt on my slippery stool. Much to my dismay, the top was decorated with a ruffle of delicate lace, but that wasn't the big problem, it only reached a few inches over my knee! I reworked it up from my ankle. That helped some, a whopping half an inch, maybe. I did it again, this time all the way from my toes gaining only about the same amount, leavening a good ten inches of bare thigh below the hem of my skirt.

I had to lift my skirt to let out the corset's garter straps so that they'd reach. With the other leg stockinged, I moved to my mirror to adjust everything. Cindy's stockings, really a couple of sizes too small, required I do the straightening from the ankles up as I'd been told was expected for my show each morning for the mailman. Returning to my desk, only then did I replace my pumps.

I was aware, the entire time that the client had been watching my entire show. When I'd finished he came before the glass, the bulge in his pants quite obvious. I don't look at guys' crotches but, obvious as it was, I didn't have to. "Hi."

Shit! I rose and curtseyed, "What time you off work today, Cynetta?"

I'd no interest in being picked up by a guy and none had ever attempted it before, but that was what he was doing. Be polite, if nothing else! I can't tell him what I wanted to. "I get off at five fifteen. No thank you, Mr. Sorsen."

"Eric. I'd like to take you to diner, Cynetta?"

Say what you really want! "No thank you, Eric."

"Tomorrow then."

"No thank you, Eric." Think! Damn it! Think of something to make it final! "I'm taken. No thank you, Eric."

"Lucky guy. Thanks for the performance, anyway. I may shift more business to Monica, just as an excuse to watch you. Thanks." He returned to his chair.

Eleven forty-five - After my tumble, my corset had been making me miserable. Despite not drinking any tea and nothing else, since leaving my apartment, I'd wet, accepting that it was inevitable anyway, and that there was nothing for me to gain by trying to hold it in all day. No way I'd last that long, tea or no tea. Monica, giggling came out of her office, holding eric's hand. "Thanks again for the order, Eric. We'll see you, ten in the morning then, to review your ideas and get started. I'm sure Cynetta will be more than happy to model for you."

 

What?

Eric paused before me. Again, I rose and curtseyed, "Thanks again, Cynetta. See you, tomorrow."

Monica came over after holding the door for him. All smiles. "I understand you put on quite a show, Bimbo. This contract is worth a lot, quite a lot.

"Eric wants you to model in the ad spread he's doing, print, at least, and he's now considering TV too.

Her expression changed to stern, "Now! What are those doing on your legs?" glancing down.

"I..., I got a run and., Tyra insisted I change. Cindy loaned me a pair of her stockings, Monica."

"Guess that I shouldn't have expected you'd be capable of thinking to carry extras... Bimbo.

"I'm going to lunch."

That lunchtime, everyone again went out leavening me alone, locked in my glass cage. I waited for Mai Ling to return, early, like the day before, but she didn't. The guy from down the hall looked in through the doors and decided, rather had worked up enough courage, to come in.

"Hi, I'm Jon Gunther." I'd greeted him, as I was required to with everyone. "You are very attractive, Cynetta." His eyes seemed to be examining my cage very carefully, before returning to fully check me over. "You're locked in there, aren't you?"

Brilliant observation! I wanted him to just leave! "Yes."

"Can we go someplace, after work, and talk? I'd like to learn about you, Cynetta?"

"No, thank you." I went to my new line, "I'm taken."

Nodding, "I should have expected, Pretty as you are. That's a nice anklet. He give it to you?"

"Not exactly." Too late, should have lied, a little.

"What's engraved on it?"

In a whisper, "Monica's"

"Oh." He crouched down and straightened. "Just checking. So you're les. It's OK, with me." Well isn't that concession really great! Big deal, 'Ok' with him!

"Not into guys, fine. I guess, more correctly, you don't let guys into you. I'd still like to talk to you. Promise, I'll not even touch you, Cynetta."

"No, thank you."

"All I want to do is talk. Please? I am asking nice."

"You are. No, thank you." Shy, he wasn't. Persistent, he was.

"You think about it. I'll be asking you again. See you later, Cynetta."

When Suzie and Cheryl returned from lunch, after the others were long back, each carried a flat object, 3' by 4', wrapped in Kraft paper and twine which they placed, one in each corner. Cheryl carried a short step stool and Suzie a hammer when they came in again. Ignoring my curtsey, I watched them help each other hang a white board and a corkboard on the wall. The stool had been left behind, when they'd finished.

I'd one assignment done and halfway through Tyra's second when Mai Ling came in, climbed the stool and tacked a long narrow paper at the top of the cork board. She ignored me, too. I was shocked! It was going to get worse. In a large, fancy, 3D font, the banner read "BIMBO'S - PICTURE OF THE WEEK"

Cheryl began setting up her taboret before the white board after it was hung. Over the next hour, she neatly placed vertical and horizontal lines and labeling the rows and columns under the header in easy to read, lettering. The columns were for the days of the week, the rows listed most of the infractions in my Agreement, for which I might earn demerits. There were boxes for Record Totals, Daily & Weekly Totals, Current Weekly Total and one for Cumulative Total Since Date of Hire. The Header at the top read, "BIMBO'S EARNED DEMERITS".

I was totally embarrassed and humiliated. Though the boards were otherwise blank and stayed that way until the next day, the implication of what they'd have placed on them made me again want to cry.

By five, I was miserable and my diapers soaked, but nowhere near like the previous day. On the way out, Cindy reminded me that she expected her stockings to be 'replaced, in kind' by the next morning. Suzie was the last of the girls to leave and came to the front about ten past. I curtseyed and came close. I tried to decline, politely her offer to wait for me outside. "Listen, Cynetta, I'll be outside, in the lot, waiting for you. I want to talk WITH you, just you and me."

"Thank you, very much, Suzie. I'm not allowed to complain, much as they'd be arguments as to why not. I've got to find replacements for Cindy's stockings and I just want to go home. Please accept that?"

"I'll be waiting." her smile was the warmest all day, from any one.

At eighteen past, Monica let me out. I checked my seams, first thing. Cindy's stockings were so tight fitting; they'd not needed straightening since I'd put them on. From her own purse, Monica placed a package in mine. "I'm going to be rough, really rough on you, Bimbo. The girls are going to be rough on you, too. Though you look like one, more so soon, and certainly behave like one, you can get above being the real Bimbo you are.

"No phone call tonight, from... your voice. You show me something special within your dress code, in return. Cancel the order the voice gave you this morning. I've lots more for you, later. Fair?"

"I'll do better tomorrow, Monica." She'd already started for her office, not seeing my curtsey.

Just as she'd said, Suzie was waiting, the parking lot, otherwise, almost empty. Beside the driver's door of my car Suzie extended her hand taking the keys I'd already had out. She moved to the other side, opened the door, ordering, "Get in!" I'd no clue what to expect and my corset hurt too much to argue, if she wanted to drive my car, I wasn't going to fight her. She placed a small case behind my seat.

She was at the exit to the road. "Directions, to your place."

"Turn left. Suzie, the mall's to the right, I need to buy stockings for Cindy."

Her purse between the buckets, she removed her hand from the gearshift, dug in and placed a thin package on my lap. "They're identical. Put them in your bag and don't worry about it.

"Give me a full set of directions to your place, now, Cynetta."

As I rode, she asked if there was anything in my fridge. Before I could answer, she pulled into a liquor store. "I'll just be a sec', stay."

Back and driving, I held what felt like a cold wine bottle and she'd placed a case of beer behind the seat. "We'll call out, unless you feel like going out. Wait 'til I ask, before you tell me."

She let me carry the bottle and my purse, carrying the beer, her bag and purse, after handing me my key ring. "Come in, please?"

"I'd all intentions of." Inside, Suzie scanned briefly then headed to the frige, "Bring the wine, Cynetta."

"Go freshen up and change. I'll just make myself comfortable." Pouring herself a beer.

Instead of doing what I'd wanted to, all day completely remove my corset, I loosened it just at the bottom to get out of my diapers. The welts caused by them compressed, underneath, were sore, as expected, when I washed and dried. I thought Suzie might order me back into diapers, resolving to have the courage to argue, I slipped up a bikini. It felt good to wear undies, so light, and the air.

The tightness of the elastic tops had left red rings around my legs that added nothing to their looks. I unhooked the 8 garter straps and put on black tights to cover them, finishing with a red pullover turtleneck and a charcoal, loose skirt a few inches above my knees with the black, elastic belt I'd gotten to pull its waist to my corseted size.

Lipstick freshened, I found Suzie in the kitchen area at the counter cutting something. I startled her, "What are you making."

"Oh! Cynetta, I didn't hear you." Her eyes checked me quickly.

With a small frown, "Let me get you a glass of wine. Go put on some music or the TV and I'll bring it."

"I'd like a beer please?"

"Go sit."

I opted for the TV news and sat in my favorite spot on the couch, quickly canceling that as my corset strongly reminded me that slouching into to deep cushions was going to be very uncomfortable. I moved to a wing chair I'd found at a yard sale. It filled a spot, but was never my choice to sit in, before. She brought me a glass of rose and placed it on a coaster next to me, I scowled at her.

She sat, just perching on the edge of the coffee table and leaning toward me. "There's only one way to feel more comfortable in the heels Monica requires for you at the office... that is to wear them until your legs adapt." She went in my bedroom and returned with the lace up patent ones I'd worn Saturday afternoon. Kneeling, she forced them on my feet and laced them. "There. That's better." patting my calf.

"If you hadn't kept your corset on, you'd find me lacewing it back on, right now, much tighter than it’s been."

Suzie returned to the edge of the table. Sipping the wine, it really wasn't very good, too dry for my taste. "Suzie, thanks for bringing this, but I still want a beer."

Not answering right away. "Beer is fattening, more than that wine. You really don't need more fat under your corset, not that you are fat to begin with. Lose ten or twelve pounds and you'll feel better as Monica laces you tighter. Beer too, will go through you more quickly and you'll be wanting to pee all evening. Be happy I bought you that.

"I'm fixing us a light supper, just sit and relax, while I finish."

Suzie had a strange effect on me. I was obeying her, but she didn't appear to be dominating me. What she'd done, with the shoes, had been practical, and she'd explained. For the first time out of diapers since Monday morning, I could bring my legs together; I even crossed my knees, but, quickly, unfolded them, to sit more ladylike. I was thinking that I really should be more aware of how I positioned myself, practicing sort of. At work, I certainly hadn't been doing that. Everyone could see me on display. Yes, I was on display there and really should be more conscious of how I displayed myself, not just feeling sorry for myself about my outfit and things I was forced to do there.

Strange? No one, not Monica, nor the others, had actually FORCED me to do anything. NO physical force had been used. I dressed as I'd been told to. I'd crawled through the small door and just let it be closed and locked. That morning, no one had even been there to see, when I'd gone inside my glass cage. I'd laced this torture about myself that morning after diapering myself. No one had forced me to do that. Just words and the money. I needed a job, but there were others, I'd just not found one, but I got up, dressed as ordered and been there early. I knew and had thought about the fact I had no privacy and had to wear my toilet the entire day, while driving there. No one had forced me. Not once in the two days, had I even considered not showing up the next morning. It just wasn't a topic for thought, I'd be there Wednesday, diapered, corseted and ready to display myself, inside my cage...."

"I invited myself here to talk to you." Suzie was on the couch. I'd not been aware she'd come back. I turned to look.

"You there?"

"Yes, I'm here. I was just thinking."

" 'Bout what?"

"Thinking about my job, more correctly the working conditions.... That's not even right.... I was thinking that I'd not been forced to do what I have been. Monica said this is what I'm to do and I've done it."

I chuckled, "I've not been thinking good thoughts enough, at work, feeling sorry for myself, but strange, I've not said, I quit. I've not even considered it an option available to me, Suzie. Really strange...? It is, you know?"

"What is?"

"Quitting. Monica said, anytime I want, all I have to say is, 'Monica, I quit' and everything would stop. I'd be free to leave and that would be that."

"So, why haven't you?"

"I've not even given it a thought, serious or otherwise. Besides, if I did, there would never be a chance of returning. Monica wouldn't let me. That door would be barred forever."

Suzie's smile was a big one. "Guess you really don't need me here to give you my advice, Cynetta. You have it pretty well under control. You aren't as much of a Bimbo as I believed."

"I hate that. Can't you stop, all of you stop calling me a Bimbo?"

She shook her head, "Nope. Not happening, soon. Monica's orders. Most of us don't obey her like you've been doing, but we're not pissing her off or quitting either. You are a Bimbo, she's going to really drive that home and it's going to be heaped on you, much more."

"Isn't there anything I can do to change that? I don't like it at all."

"Sure... quit. You just said you aren't going to, yet.

"Yes, sure, there are some things you can do. You can play Monica's game, get good at it, and have fun with it. I doubt you can beat her at it. If you get close or it seems like you might, she'll change the rules. It's her bat and her ball and Monica makes up the rules of the games she plays, as she goes along. Monica does not like to lose. She'll not let you win, if it's her game."

"What things? You said there are some?"

"Get good at being a Bimbo. Work at it. Think up, do, and perfect being her Bimbo. Obey all her orders. Get your body trained to walk really sexy in the highest heels made and work on being corseted to achieve the tiniest waist you can. It won't be easy.

"You, as her player, are expected to do stupid, foolish things. STRONG words of advice, don't do them on purpose, mistakenly thinking that's what she wants. She doesn't."

"Explain, please?"

"Something happened to set you into a real, crying jag, today. You were so out of it, you fell off your stool." Laughing, "NEVER do something like that, on purpose."

I stared, for a moment, "How do you know that? No one was in the office."

Suzie sipped her beer, "I know." It really wasn't a satisfactory answer.

We ate the salad and canned shrimp toast Suzie had put together from what was available. "Suzie, thanks for making supper, but I'm still hungry," I started to rise, after cleaning everything from my plate. "Cold sandwiches just aren't my thing for lunch either."

"Sit, a sec'." I did. "Your body needs to adjust to being corseted, takes time. You can help it along, a lot, by watching your diet, changing your eating habits, loosing some weight."

"I'm not overweight and I AM NOT FAT!"

"Didn't say you were." She extended her empty glass and I refilled it, along with mine. "The corset is going to force things to redistribute themselves, more toward your bottom than your bust. It has all got to go some place, as your waist gets smaller. You can help and be much more comfortable, perhaps, less uncomfortable while that happens, is more correct." Suzie's words reminded me just how much my corset hurt, but I saw her logic too. "You might want to try something other than sandwiches for your lunch," giggling, first time I'd seen her do that, "jars of baby food would be appropriate. Monica would get a big kick out of that."

"I'm not eating baby food! Just 'cause she forces me to wear diapers doesn't mean I'm going that far!"

"We'll see."

"What's that mean?"

"Interpret it as wish. Where's your nail stuff? I'll redo them for you, if you'd like?"

By ten, I wanted two things, to remove my corset and SLEEP! Suzie spent the might on my couch.

Thankfully, Monica didn't awaken me at three again, but I was awake, anticipating her call anyway. I was tightening my corset when sleepy-eyed Suzie knocked and entered, "I'll do that, if you'd like." Extending my hands to hold the laces out, she took them. "Did you smooth your diaper and baby pants out underneath? Wrinkles will cause bad welts and there's no need to put up with that."

She loosened the lower edge enough to work the diapers out from underneath, then pushed the top of my pants back up, under and smoothed them, there. "That should be better. I'm sure Monica wants it so you can't lower the baby panties without removing your corset, but you shouldn't have to have your diapers there, too." She tightened and tied off.

"Mind if I look and pick your outfit today?"

"May I see it, before I agree?"

"Sure. Do your face, while I look."

I minced from my car to the office, teetering on the still unfamiliar height of six-inch spikes. They were bright red, baby doll toed pumps with wide ankle straps. (We'd stopped at Suzie's house and I'd put hers on while she changed.) Black stockings, a tight acid denim mico that didn't cover the tops of my long stockings, leaving the garter tabs and a half inch of bare thigh in view, a wide leather belt matching my shoes and a figure hugging, tight, red, long sleeved top with low scooped neck showing the tops of my breasts, this was how Suzie had chosen to dress me. I protested that I looked like a streetwalker, but she won out. She'd put the rest of my hair into a very tight bun, just behind my full bangs, on top. About my throat was a black velvet ribbon with a bow under my left ear that was hers too.

I remembered the run in my stocking the previous day and had opened to place a new pair in my purse to find those that both Monica and Suzie had given me last evening to replace Cindy's loan. "Suggestion: Take a pair of each shade Monica bought for you, Cynetta, and put them on file in your office, just to be really prepared as well with a pair like you are wearing in your purse. You may never need them, but you may be able to return Cindy's favor by loaning one of us a pair, if ever needed."

Suzie locked me in after I'd crawled through at seven twenty-eight, just on time. Checking, I straightened in the mirror, remembering the show I'd been ordered to give the mailman. There was no one there and I decided to make a dry run of unclipping the tabs and smoothing each stocking.

First thing, I put my stockings in order, filed the extra pairs, along with my lunch. Before turning on all the machines, I deposited the two pair of stockings for Cindy in her mail slot.

Several faxes had been received; I copied these and deposited them in their respective places also. Finally I perched on the stool and thought of what I should do next.

Suzie hadn't gone to her office, but had been watching me. With a nice smile and nod, she went down the corridor.

Cindy was dressed, that morning, like a little girl in a deep blue, velvet and white sheer party dress with stiff petticoats holding it out. In total contrast, she wore black, full-fashioned stockings under short, ruffle cuffed white anklets and black patent, ankle-strap pumps with six-inch spikes. I curtseyed and she returned it as she retrieved her replacement stockings and mail.

"You look sexy this morning, Bimbo. Thanks for the stockings. If you get another run, let me know, I'm always prepared."

"Thank you for the loan, Cindy. I'm prepared now, too." She gave me a big grin and went to her office.

Other than exchanging greetings, none of the others said anything, except Monica. She had me model and face her in front. "You look very nice this morning, Bimbo."

"Bring your tea pot over to the panel, I'll refill it for you." all sweet and pleasant.

"Monica, thank you. I didn't drink it yesterday. Please take it? I'd prefer not to have it here. That way I'm not tempted."

She frowned, but it vanished. "I won't force you to drink it... today."

She slipped a white plastic tag, two by four inches, through the slot, "Wear that above your left breast, all the time at work." Picking it up and turning it over, I read, in large stylized print 'BIMBO' with an exaggerated female torso next to it. Under that was 'RECEPTIONIST' and 'PASSETTO GRAPHICS', all engraved in red.

Meeting her stare, I knew she was serious. Very reluctantly, I put it on my top. "Effective immediately, that's your name here. It is how you will answer the phone; how you will introduce yourself and the name you will respond to. Is that clear in your bubble brain, Bimbo?"

Ulp, "Yes, Monica."

"Good. I will inform the others."

She started for her office, but returned, extracting two magazines from her purse. "Here, maybe you'll see some new things to do with your nails and hair. Let me know what you think you need and I'll get it for you."

One magazine was "HOT HAIR FOR HOT NIGHTS" and the other "Wild, Fantastic Nails".

I was not happy with the nametag and Monica's order that it was what she had renamed me, but there really wasn't much to do about it. Resigned, I minced to my stool, perched and started leafing through the magazines. The first couple of calls I forgot to state my new name, but remembered on the third, feeling fortunate that I had as the caller identified herself as Dara Passetto, Monica's sister, after laughing a minute over my name.

Later in the morning Kitten and Cindy placed several pictures of me, taken when I'd fallen on the floor during my crying episode of the day before, on the bulletin board for all who came in to see. One, larger than the others, was identified as Bimbo's picture of the week.

I made it through to late Friday afternoon, surviving everything that I was forced to do and endure in my glass cage/office. I was very much looking forward to going home and having my weekend off. All the others had left, most wishing me a nice weekend with a smile. I thought it nothing more then a normal end of the week good bye. As the clock passed five thirty, I wondered just when Monica was going to leave and release me to do the same. It was five forty-seven when she FINALLY exited her office.

I stood and curtseyed. Her words startled me as she set a bundle on the floor near the panel and crouched to unlock it. "I want you to look special for our date tonight, Bimbo. Get undressed, change into clean diapers and put on everything I bought for you." The panel slid open, she placed all inside, closed and relocked it then straightened. "Freshen your makeup too, and buzz me when you're ready."

Mostly, I'd calmed from my initial embarrassments of being so on display during the week, now I felt even more embarrassed and exposed. My stocking show for the mailman and everyone else was nothing compared to the realization of having the undress and much worse, change my wet diapers with absolutely no privacy!

I stood paralyzed, unable to bring myself to move, Monica's voice, filtered and muffled through the glass, "Bimbo, I am not going to be kept waiting all night. Move and move now!" very reluctantly, I lifted my skirt to takeoff my plastic panties.

Thankfully, no one embarrassed me further while I stripped to just my corset and redressed in the revealing outfit that she'd provided.

 

The End

 

 

 

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© 1997 by Karen Anne Summerfield. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.