Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Carole was not happy.  When she had recommended to the MD that they should
reduce expenditure on departmental away days by using cheaper hotels, she
had not expected it to apply to the Finance Department - her department. 
Finance was far too important.  It was supposed to apply to 'waste of money
departments' as Carole thought of them.  Departments like HR or - heaven
help us - Health and Safety, what on earth was the use of them!  If you had
a problem employee you sacked them; if you wanted fewer accidents you told
people to be more careful.  So it was important that the company didn't
waste more money on these departments than they had to.  But to her dismay
the MD had immediately vetoed their day at The Manor (five stars, golf
course and health spa) and they had ended up at the very much cheaper
Piddleton Grange.  The name didn't sound too exotic.  Neither did it look
too exotic when it hove into view.  It was a run down looking old house in
the middle of nowhere, built in the red brick Victorian Gothic style with
an imposing flat roofed porch over the front door.  She was the only member
of the department staying there that night (waste of money paying for a
room for the junior staff), and when she entered the place she got the
distinct impression she was the only person staying there at all.  She rang
the bell in reception imperiously.  She didn't like to be kept waiting. 
She was used to being in control, to giving orders and expected people to
follow her orders without demur.  Carole dressed with authority.  Tailored
suits in dark colours, padded shoulders and striking narrow high heeled
shoes.  Underneath she wore expensive silk French lingerie.  She liked the
feel of silk against her skin.  It was her clothes that gave her
confidence, gave her power.

   A smiling man in his mid-thirties came trotting into the lobby.  He
wasn't English.  His accent placed him from an eastern European country
somewhere.

   He introduced himself as Mr Zgnbviev, or at least that was what it
sounded like.

   "When I ring the bell I expect to be seen to immediately", pronounced
Carole.  She was not a woman who liked to be kept waiting, and anyway
experience had told her that it was best to let people know their place
straight away by making sure that your first comment was a complaint.

   "Yes Madame my lady", said the man, "I give you good seeing to when you
want it"

   Carole just stared; the standard of staff did not bode well for a
successful stay.  She signed in.

   "Carry my bags and take me to my room", she ordered - and if he was
hoping for a tip he had another think coming.

   "Do you want I take you up the front passage or up the back passage",
said the man.

   Carole stared, was the man serious?

   "The front", she said.

   "Oh, a discerning lady", said the man", there are some ladies as like it
up the back way"

   They reached Carole's room.

   "And you can fetch me a stiff drink", said Carole, "whisky, no ice, no
water".

   "Oh yes, I come with big stiff one", said the man, "you want to have my
big stiff one inside you!"

   Carole was not often at a loss for words.  What on earth was this place
they had booked her into?  She was glad she had eaten on the way, and was
not having to order sausage in the restaurant.

   She unpacked her things and went through to use the bathroom.  She had
just got herself seated with her skirt up and her knickers round her ankles
when in came Mr Unpronounceable with his big stiff one.  Carole was used to
dealing with awkward situations.  She had a technique which inevitably
seemed to work.  She shouted at people.  But the application of this
technique required her to be in a position of authority, a position of
control.  Sitting on the toilet with her skirt up and her knickers round
her ankles, she did not somehow feel in control of the situation.

   "Here is big stiff one", said the man, and stood waiting for
instructions.  Carole could only motion to him to put it down.

   "Does Madame have the more orders", said the man.

   Carole regained some composure.  Even in her unfortunate predicament,
and it seemed somehow undignified to recognise this by standing up and
pulling up her knickers, she latched on to something to complain about.

   "Those towels are dirty", she shouted, not that they were, it just gave
her something to shout at him about, "take them away and being some fresh
ones"

   The man picked up the towels, "I bring clean towels", he said.  Carole
just nodded.  She might be abashed just now, but just wait till tomorrow.
She'd have something to say to the manager.  She would demand compensation.


   Leaving the bathroom, she changed into her silk black fashion pyjamas.
So smooth and soft against her skin, and retired to bed.  No towels had
appeared; she'd have something to say about that in the morning.

   It was not warm in her room.  In fact on the cool April night it was
freezing cold.  By the morning she was shivering.  She decided to take a
hot bath.  She loved the feel of being warmed up by hot water against her
bare skin.  She turned the taps on and steaming water gushed out.  She
slipped out of the black silk pyjamas and threw them on the bed walking
naked into the bathroom and lay down to soak in the hot bath.

   Not that Carole was one of those women who were comfortable with being
naked.  She did not find it sexually arousing.  If she wanted sexual
arousal, she liked to get a man naked and subject him to some humiliation.
Now that was arousing!  Her nipples would always harden at the thought of
it.  She was thinking of subjecting Mr Znb...  whatever, to some naked
humiliation now and she felt her nipples harden.

   Oh my God!  That man - what if he came bursting in with the towels when
she was naked in the bath.  The thought was too humiliating.

   She leapt out the bath and slammed the bathroom door shut.  In her
excitement she turned the key viciously in the lock.  Well she wasn't
having that dreadful man bursting in on her again.  Then, to her horror she
found the key turning round and round in the lock.  In her excitement at
the idea of humiliating Mr Unpronounceable she had turned too hard and
broken it.  She pulled frantically at the door but it was locked shut.  She
was trapped naked in the bathroom, and the stupid man had not even brought
the towels back.

   Although superficially Carole was a confident, if not aggressive woman,
her confidence came from her clothes.  Naked, she felt ashamed and
vulnerable.  She looked around the room.  It looked small.  It looked
oppressive.  She had always hated being locked in and she tried to fight
back the rising sense of claustrophobia that was engulfing her.

   She was in an awful dilemma.  She couldn't stand being trapped in the
locked room, but the only way out was to climb out the window.  The window
was above the front porch of the building so she could step out and stand
on the top of the porch without problems - except of course that she would
be visible stark naked to the guests arriving at the hotel.  Which was
worse - public nudity and shame, or being trapped in the bathroom?

   Her brain solved the dilemma in a strange way.  If she was to endure
public naked humiliation, then she had to enjoy it.  Suddenly the Carole
everyone knew disappeared from her psyche, to be replaced by the Carole
nobody knew.  The giggling sixteen year old girl who had once gone skinny
dipping in the hills and been surprised by two hikers.  How naughty that
had been, how exhilarating.

   Suddenly she found herself thinking how naughty and exhilarating it
would be to stand on the porch in the nude to await the arrival of the
members of her department.  What a laugh that would be!  She looked round
her.  Her smart high heeled shoes were in the bathroom.  She'd look good in
those.  They would accentuate her long slim legs, give a firm roundness to
her pert buttocks.  She slipped them on, slid the window open and stepped
out.  The day was warming up as she stood there waiting for the first
arrival with eager anticipation feeling the warm sun on her bare breasts.
Her nipples standing out proud and free.

   Tim was not looking forward to the day.  He saw enough of Carole in a
normal day without having to have to see more of her.  As he turned into
the grounds of the hotel he was blissfully unaware of exactly how much more
of her he was about to see.  It was a sight that momentarily disorientated
him.  His boss, Carole Tompkins, the scourge of the company was standing on
top of the porch over the hotel doorway giggling like a silly schoolgirl,
and she was wearing a pair of high heeled shoes - and absolutely nothing
else.

   He stared open mouthed, his brain reeling at the sight.  It reeled even
more when Carole opened her mouth.

   "Oh gosh Timmy", she simpered in a squeaky schoolgirly voice, so unlike
the deep authoritative tones she had long trained herself to use and which
he was used to, "I've been ever so naughty, and locked myself out with
absolutely no clothes on.  How very, very rude you must think me",

   Timmy could just stare.

   "Could you rescue me please darling Timmy", she went on, "and please
don't look at my bare bottom.  It's so rude",

   Timmy remained speechless as Carole provocatively stuck out her pert
little behind.  "...or my boobies; they're not for looking at, naughty
boy", with which words she took her breasts in her hands and jiggled them
about playfully.

   Spurred into sudden action Tim ran to see if he could find a ladder,
returning some five minutes later with a tall pair of stepladders.  A small
group of men and women were gathered around while Carole cavorted on top of
the porch in her high heels and her birthday suit, alternatively striking
poses that provocatively displayed her bottom or her breasts.  They were
the other members of the department and their immediate reaction was that
the boss was deranged.  Tim put up the ladder and climbed up.  Carole had
to sort of lower herself onto it, back to the audience with her legs
dangling over the edge, all the time saying "Oh gosh!  Everybody's looking
at my bare bottie".

   Only with great difficulty could Tim guide her feet onto the stepladder,
and as he did so the whole thing toppled over leaving Carole on top of him
legs waving wildly in the air as she tried to right herself.  It was a part
of the boss that the staff had not seen before, or indeed were ever likely
to again.

   Eventually she was down and on her feet.  As soon as she was on solid
ground the strange regression to silly teenager disappeared; she looked
around.  It was as if the last twenty minutes had been a dream and she
suddenly awoke to find herself stark naked and humiliated in front of all
her staff.  She screamed, turned, and ran.  The last they saw of her was a
retreating bare behind wiggling as she tried to run in high heeled shoes up
the stairs of the hotel screaming at Mr Whatsisname to get her bathroom
door mended.

   Regaining her room she threw herself face down on the bed hiding her
face in her hands.  The door opened and she saw Mr Znb...  thingy coming in
with a large bag of tools.  She was still stark naked.  She didn't care;
she was past caring.  Mr Zgnbiev looked at her nicely rounded bare bottom
appreciatively.

   "I fix things no time", he said, "I get out my big tool and put it in
hole, then you feel better."

   Carole somehow doubted that very much.