Subject: RP - Zoe, Naked at Work - Monday (FF MF exh tease
Newsgroups: new-east:alt.sex.stories.moderated
Zoe, Naked at Work - Monday (FF MF exh tease)
(c) 2003 Anais Ninja
anais_ninja@hotmail.com
/~anais_ninja/
* * *
MONDAY
I could tell something was up as soon as I stepped off the elevator.
Hazel, our receptionist, was talking on her cell phone in a hushed
whisper, too wrapped up in her conversation to smile as I entered the
lobby.
"Hang on a sec," she whispered into the phone as I passed her desk on
the way to my office. Hazel held her phone against her blouse and
called out to me.
"Zoe! Zoe!"
"Good morning," I said. "What's up?"
"Staff meeting is pushed back to ten."
"Who's late?" It wasn't unusual for the Monday morning meeting to get
pushed back an hour or two, usually to accommodate a late arrival.
"No one," Hazel replied. "The Old Man called in a consultant to sit in.
Didn't you get the e-mail?"
"I haven't touched my computer all weekend." The weather had been
perfect and I'd spent all my time either at the beach or reading on the
balcony of my apartment. "Who's the consultant?"
"Some management expert," Hazel said, looking around to see if anyone
was in earshot. "I think there's going to be lay-offs or something."
"Don't worry, Hazel. You're irreplaceable."
"It's not me I'm worried about, Zoe," she said. "Hal..."
Harold was her fiance, the most junior of the sales staff and an obvious
first choice if a staff reduction was going to take place.
"I wouldn't worry about that just yet," I said. "Let's hear what this
consultant has to say first."
"I hope you're right," she said, smiling weakly. As I headed down the
hall to my office she returned to her phone call.
The conference room felt like a funeral home. No one spoke. There was
none of the usual Monday morning banter while we waited for the Old Man
and the consultant. Usually, we'd engage in a friendly game of one-
upsmanship on the subject of our weekend activities. Today there was
none of that.
"I hope everyone has their resumes up to date," Larry said, trying to
break the ice. "Last one to the copier is a rotten egg."
"Give it a rest, Larry," Cheryl snapped. She usually laughed hardest at
his jokes, even the off-color ones, but she just wasn't in the mood for
levity. If there were layoffs, she'd be one of the first to be let go,
after Hal and Marie.
Larry was about to respond but bit his tongue when the Old Man entered
the room, followed by the mysterious consultant, a man in his thirties
wearing an expensive Italian suit that probably cost as much as my car.
"Sorry we're late," the Old Man said. Heads turned when he said this;
the Old Man was famous for never apologizing for anything. Not that he
wasn't a good boss. It just wasn't in his nature.
"I'll dispense with the usual weekly agenda and turn the meeting over to
Cal. He comes highly recommended and he's going to help us turn the
corner." The Old Man took his seat at the head of the table and folded
his hands in his lap, nodding in Cal's direction. The consultant went
to the whiteboard that covered the wall on the far end of the room and
wrote the words "THE PROGRAM" in big black block letters. Then he
turned to address the eleven people seated around the conference table.
"Some of you are wondering who I am, why I'm here, and whether you'll
have a job at the end of this meeting. Rest assured, I am not here to
reduce headcount."
More than one person let out a sigh of relief. The tension that had
gripped the room began to dissipate.
"I'm here to turn a bunch of fucking losers..." Cal wrote the word
"LOSERS" on the whiteboard. "...into a bunch of closers." He added the
"C" to the beginning of the word and underlined it.
"Listen, pal," Woody said, getting up from his seat. Next to the Old
Man, he was the most senior member of the staff, and a gentleman as
well. "That sort of language is uncalled..."
"Shaddup," Cal barked. "If you were a closer instead of a loser you
wouldn't have to hear it. Now sit the fuck down and shut your
cocksucking mouth." Woody sheepishly took his seat as Cal continued.
"I can hear your minds moving already, thinking up your excuses. 'But
Cal! The commercial real estate market is in the toilet! But Cal! The
dot com boom is over! But Cal! The commercial vacancy rate downtown is
18%!' No fucking thanks. I've heard them all. Excuses are like
assholes. Everyone has one and they all stink."
Nervous laughter spread through the room like the rustling of dry
leaves. The tension was back, thicker than before.
"Well, now that I've saved you all the trouble of thinking up your lame
excuses, let's get to the bottom line." He drew two intersecting lines
on the chart, like an elongated "T", putting the names of the sales
staff on one side and their corresponding sales and lease income for the
last month on the other.
"Where did you get those figures?" Hal asked.
"From me," the Old Man replied. "Continue, Cal." The consultant
finished filling in the figures and turned to face the room.
Since kindergarten, I've grown accustomed to being last in any line.
Having a first name that starts with the letter "Z" and a last name
beginning with a "Y" made that a given, and I really didn't mind after a
while. This, however, was one line in which my last place position
wasn't alphabetical.
"Zoe? Which one of you is Zoe?" Cal scanned the room, looking at all
of the women present.
"That's me." My father told me that you should never look a wild animal
straight in the eye, but that's what I did with Cal.
"$171,549. That's dead last. Deduct office expenses and your base pay
and you brought in a pittance. A fucking pittance." Cal was leaning
across the table, returning my stare with his cold blue eyes.
"Zoe was out for almost a week with a sprained ankle," Danielle said.
It didn't surprise me that she'd come to my defense. Dani was my
closest friend at the firm; we'd been playing tennis together when I
twisted my ankle. It wasn't that bad a sprain, but the painkillers I'd
been taking left me too dizzy to do any real work, though I'd spent my
time at home keeping in touch with recent clients and prospects on the
phone.
"What did I say about excuses?" Cal barked, making Dani cringe visibly.
"Something about assholes," Larry sneered. More nervous laughter filled
the room.
"You've got something to say to me?" Cal stared Larry down.
"No," Larry said, adding a half-whispered "asshole".
"Continue, Cal," the Old Man commanded. He wasn't really that old, just
on the far side of fifty. A former employee had pinned that name on him
because the Old Man reminded him of the captain of the Navy destroyer on
which he'd served. "Skipper" and "Cap'n" were the other names he'd call
the boss, but "Old Man" was the only one that stuck, mostly due to the
boss's wizened face and thick grey hair.
"Let's talk about The Program," Cal said, returning to the whiteboard.
"It's a series of incentives, designed to motivate even the biggest
fuck-up." He went into a detailed explanation that left most of us
rolling our eyes or staring out the window. From what I could glean
amidst all the buzzwords and psychobabble was that this "program" was
part reward, part punishment, though Cal was pretty vague about the
details.
"And that's why I'm here," he said when he finished his spiel. "To
implement The Program and put this company back on track. We'll start
with Step One. Zoe? Stand up for us, please."
"What?" I guess his use of the word "please" had caught me off guard.
I'd expected him to say something like "Stand the fuck up, bitch."
"Would you please stand up, Zoe?" he repeated. I pushed my chair back
away from the conference table and stood.
"Take off your clothes." Cal stood ramrod straight, his hands folded
across his chest.
"Pardon me?" It sounded like he'd said "Take off your clothes." Surely
he didn't...
"Take off your clothes or clean out your desk."
"You can't be serious," I said, looking to the Old Man for some sign
that this was all a joke. Everyone else in the room was shifting their
gaze from me to the boss to Cal.
"Do as he says, Zoe," the Old Man said, nodding sagely. "Please."
"Fine," I said, unbuttoning my blouse. As I started to undress, a dozen
pairs of eyes were glued to me. Only Danielle smiled. She was the only
one who knew my secret.
My parents were not quite hippies, but they were certainly "free
spirits". My father wrote self-help books, some of which sold quite
well, and my mother was a massage therapist. As such, my childhood was
as far from the typical suburban tract house lifestyle as one could get.
We lived on a commune for the first twelve years of my life, traveled
quite a bit, and stayed with other "free spirits" on their farms and
ranches.
One aspect of my parents' lifestyle was naturism, both in and out of
nudist resorts. Even at home wearing clothes was optional, and only the
chill of winter or a visit by non-naturist friends would keep us from
walking around in the buff. So I had no qualms about taking my clothes
off in front of people I knew. Only Cal's presence made me hesitate,
but I felt almost giddy about calling his bluff.
"Everything except your shoes," the consultant said, once I was down to
my bra, pantyhose, and thong. I had to sit down to take off my hosiery,
but then I stood up and skinned off my panties, dropping them on the
conference room table as I stepped back into my heels.
Woody, gentleman that he was, tried to avert his eyes, a deep blush
spreading across his pale Irish complexion. Even Dani seemed to get
flushed, a purplish tint spreading across her ebony cheekbones.
Garrick, though he was happily married, couldn't keep from staring at my
reddish-blonde bush, the corner of his mouth turned up in something
approaching a leering smile. Marie licked her lips. Were the rumors
that she played for the other team true?
"For the next week, Zoe here will be naked from the moment she arrives
in the morning until she leaves at the end of the day," Cal explained.
"Working the phones? Naked. Meeting clients? Naked. Taking lunch?
Naked."
"What about sales calls?" Dave asked. "And showing properties?"
"Naked and naked," Cal replied. "Whoever is last place in commissions
this week goes naked the next."
"That's The Program?" Larry said. "That's it? This must be the dumbest
goddamned thing..."
"Shut your fucking mouth," Cal snapped, cutting him off in mid-sentence.
The consultant outlined the rest of The Program, rewards for the top
sellers, punishments for anyone below the mean average, from having to
use the opposite gender's bathroom to wearing nothing but underwear.
Apparently, going nude for the week was the bottom rung, a combination
of all of these. Walking around without clothes for a week was
something I could deal with, but having to use the men's room was not.
By the time the meeting was over, Hal and Marie had to strip down to
their underclothes and Cheryl would have to use the men's bathroom for
the week along with Marie and I, though she could keep her clothes on.
Lee, who had fallen below the mean by just under $100, would have to use
the ladies room with Hal. On the other side of the ledger, Garrick and
Danielle had accrued a number of points towards a new Lexus, and Woody
and Larry would have their lunches paid for by the Old Man. Only Dave,
whose sales for the previous month were exactly at the mean point, was
unaffected, neither rewarded nor punished.
The meeting broke up after an hour. I gathered my clothes and cell
phone and headed straight to my office, slamming the door so hard that
the windows rattled. Dropping my clothes and phone on the desk, I
stretched out on the couch and tried to choke back my tears. It wasn't
from having to bare myself in front of my boss, co-workers, and the
consultant from Hell. It was the humiliation of coming in last in a
race I hadn't even known I was running.
There was a knock on the door. I took a moment to compose myself before
answering.
"Hey, honey," Danielle cooed, kneeling next to the couch. In anyone
else's presence I might have had the urge to cover myself, but Dani and
I had taken plenty of showers together at the fitness center and the
racquet club.
"This is so fucked up, Dani." I sat up on the couch and held my head in
my hands. Danielle picked up the box of tissues from my desk and sat
next to me on the couch, massaging my shoulders while I dried my eyes.
"Maybe you should talk to a lawyer," Dani said. "This can't be legal.
Hostile workplace? Hello?"
"I'm going to talk to the Old Man first," I replied. "This has to be
some sort of mistake."
"Wait a while before you do that," she whispered. "I'm going to see
what dirt I can dig up on that consultant."
"Good idea. I'll see what I can get on that Program."
"In the meantime, take this," Dani said, handing me a file folder.
"What is this?"
"Dorfmann and Sons. I want you to close this for me."
"Dani, I can't take business from you!" I tried to hand the folder back
but she refused to take it.
"Zoe, you can and you will," Danielle said. "Besides, I don't want to
have to look at your bony white ass two weeks in a row."
"I owe you big, Dani," I said, hugging her as I tried to keep from
bursting into tears.
Just then, there was another knock at the door. I had to choke back the
lump in my throat before I could say "Come in!". Harold and Marie
entered, he in boxers, shoes, and black socks, she in bra and panties.
Hal seemed to be in a constant state of blush, embarrassed and
humiliated at having to doff his suit, shirt, and tie. Marie, however,
was beaming. She seemed to revel in this. Like most of the offices
here, I had a set of chairs across from my desk and they pulled them
over to face the couch before sitting down.
"What's up?" I said.
"Strategy meeting," Marie replied.
"We need to figure out what to do," Hal said. "This can't happen. No
way, no how."
"We're way ahead of you," Danielle said. "I'm going to google Cal.
Zoe's going to sniff out The Program and talk to the Old Man."
"Want us to come with?" Marie asked.
"I'm thinking that I should do this alone," I said. "At least for now.
You guys are still pretty new here. He and I get along pretty well. I
just need to get him away from Cal."
"Okay, your call," Harold said, crossing his legs. He was young -- mid-
twenties -- and athletically built, and it occurred to me that he was
somewhat aroused from being in the presence of three women in various
stages of dress and undress. Marie was wearing a push-up bra that
squeezed her small breasts into something resembling cleavage. Between
that and her straight posture, you couldn't help but notice her boobs.
They were in your face, even from six feet away.
"Where's Cheryl?" Dani asked. "Shouldn't she be in on this?" Hal
blushed again and cleared his throat.
"She went straight for the men's room," he said.
"She did?" Cheryl was married, mid-thirties, had two kids, and had just
returned to the work now that her youngest had started grade school.
She rarely went for after-work drinks with the staff, and seemed to have
no tolerance for office politics. Of everyone here, I would have
expected her to clean out her desk and leave rather than submit to The
Program. Her husband was a plastic surgeon and certainly made a good
enough living.
"Maybe I should get her?" Hal said.
"No. Let me," I said, getting up from the couch.
"Are you sure?" Dani asked. I smiled and nodded as I headed out of my
office. As I walked through the cubicle farm that housed our support
staff I could see heads popping up here and there, something that never
failed to remind me of the prairie dogs I'd seen when I was a little
girl. I let my ass sway slightly and, as I walked past the reception
desk to the men's room, Hazel nearly choked on her cell phone.
At first I thought Cheryl was sobbing. I could hear her voice coming
from inside one of the stalls, behind the only closed door. There was
no one else in the bathroom, though I could smell the tang of cheap
cologne. Then I realized that she wasn't crying. She was on the verge
of a climax.
I walked over to the stall, the click of my Manolo Blahniks echoing off
of the tile floor and walls, and knocked on the door.
"Cheryl? You okay?"
She didn't respond, at least not directly. I heard a muffled "Oh,
God...oh, yeah...oh, fuck..." coming from behind the metal door. There
was a gap between the door and the frame and I peered through it.
Cheryl was seated on the toilet, her pantyhose and panties pulled down,
dress hiked up, hands busy between her legs. Her lipstick was smeared
and her hair was a mess, but what made me start to worry about her was
the look in her eyes, like a wounded animal, pupils dilated as she
stared off into space.
"Cheryl? Are you alright? It's Zoe. Let me in, honey."
"Fuck...cock...fucking cock...fucking...yeah!" She didn't seem to be
aware of anything but her own pleasure, and I didn't think this was the
best place for someone in her state, whatever that state was. I grabbed
the top of the door and shook it, but she'd locked the stall.
Fortunately, it was one of those locks that have a slotted disc on the
outward facing side of the door, big enough to turn with a quarter or a
screwdriver. I had neither of these, and it was too tight to turn with
just my fingernails, but I was wearing thin hoop earrings, perfect for
the task. By the time I'd taken one out of my earlobe and opened the
stall, Cheryl had come loudly and profanely. For happily married mother
of two, she had the vocabulary of a longshoreman.
"Zoe...pretty Zoe..." she said, her speech slurred.
"Cheryl, honey," I cooed, pulling her hands from her crotch. The smell
of sex overpowered the aroma of cheap cologne and disinfectant. "Let's
get you out of here."
"Fuck no," she replied. "I'm staying here all week. This place is Cock
Central." That's when I noticed the white stain on her navy blue dress.
"What happened? Are you okay?" I brushed her hair from her face.
There was a drop of semen on her chin.
"I sucked Chico's cock," she giggled. "What a beautiful cock he has."
"Who's Chico?"
"Don't you know Chico?"
"No, Cheryl. I don't."
"He's that janitor with the tight little buns. He's coming back for
seconds. Wanna suck him with me?"
"Let's get you out of here, honey." I pulled her to her feet and bent
over to drag her panties and pantyhose up her legs. That's when I felt
her hand on my ass, fingers probing between my cheeks. I finished
arranging her clothing before she reached my sex.
"Do you like it up the ass, Zoe? My Martin loves to fuck me back there.
He says my pussy's too loose for him but I've had two kids. What do you
expect after two kids? Never have kids, Zoe. It ruins you for sex and
you have to take it up the ass or he'll screw a nurse. I didn't like it
at first, but now I do. I'm a dirty girl, Zoe. A dirty girl. I like
it up the pooper. I'm a dirty girl..."
By now it was clear that Cheryl was having some sort of nervous
breakdown and if I didn't get her out of the men's room she'd end up
getting fucked by the entire janitorial staff. I herded her out of the
stall and quickly wiped Chico's sperm from her face. Fortunately, we
were out of the bathroom before he returned. Hazel left her desk to
help me steer Cheryl into her office and we sat her down on her couch.
"What happened to her?" Hazel asked.
"I don't know," I replied. I rummaged through Cheryl's pocketbook and
found an orange plastic vial of Valium. I knew she'd have some. We all
did. There was a bottle of spring water on the desk and I handed this
to Cheryl, spilling a pill from the bottle into my palm.
"Take this, Cheryl."
"I'm okay, I'm okay," she said.
"You're not okay. Take this."
Cheryl complied, washing down the pill with a gulp of water and leaning
back against the couch. Hazel took the bottle of water from her hand
and moistened a tissue, daubing at the stain on Cheryl's dress. We sat
with her until she calmed down and her eyes took on a glassy look.
Cheryl closed her eyes and laid down across the couch.
"Hal told me about the meeting," Hazel whispered. "It's outrageous.
You should talk to a lawyer."
"I am," I said. "But first I'm going to speak to the Old Man."
"He's crazy if he's going along with this."
"I know. Something's fishy here."
Hazel had to go back to her desk and cover the phones so I stayed with
Cheryl until she fell asleep. As I left Cheryl's office to return to my
own, I heard a flurry of clicks and whirs coming from the cubicles.
Just about every male member of the support staff had either a digital
camera or a cell phone that could capture images. I even saw a couple
of DV camcorders, the kind we used to take videos of properties to show
to clients. I stopped dead in my tracks and faced the colony of horny
prairie dogs.
"If any of these pictures end up on the Internet, I'm going to rip all
of your balls off and hang them from the mirror of my car like fuzzy
dice." I stood there with my hands on my hips, glaring at them.
Slowly, the cameras disappeared behind the cubicle walls. I turned and
stormed into my office, slamming the door hard again. This was going to
be a long week.
Just as I sat down behind my desk there was a knock on the door. It was
Roger, the company's information technology director. He was a sweet
guy, extremely shy, the embodiment of the stereotypical computer geek.
He was good at his job and a hard worker, so everyone from the Old Man
down ignored his idiosyncrasies, like his disheveled appearance or his
habit of humming to himself and rocking in his chair as he sat in his
cube.
"Um, I...I cut off web access at the, um, firewall," he said, looking
down at his sneakers. "I can't do anything about the, um, cell phones
or the wireless access point upstairs at Palmer Associates. It's wide
open, not even encrypted, so it's trivial to just..."
"Roger, I need to google this Program thing," I said, cutting him off.
"I need the web. I don't care if I end up on hotornot.com."
"Oh, okay," he said, shuffling his feet on the carpet. "I'll take care
of that right now."
"Thanks, Rog. That was sweet of you."
"Anytime, Zoe. I just wanted to protect milady's...err...your honor."
He blushed like a beet when he said that. What little I knew about his
life outside the office centered on his obsession with medieval role
playing games, both online and off. He'd worn a full set of chain mail
and armor to the company's Halloween party one year, and everyone knew
it was more than a costume for him. Roger smiled sheepishly as he left
my office, even though he got zapped with a massive static electricity
shock from the doorknob from all his nervous shuffling.
I logged in to my computer and waited a few minutes for Roger to do his
firewall voodoo before searching for information on The Program. What I
found surprised me. Most of the links had to do with high school human
sexuality education. I found a PDF of something called "The Pamphlet"
and downloaded it to read later. There was one link that led to a site
run by something called the Institute for Proactive Management.
Apparently they'd adapted The Program for use in business and one of
their founders was none other than Cal. I bookmarked the site and
opened the PDF, skimming the table of contents. Interesting...
There was another knock at the door. I'm a popular girl today, I
thought. This time it was Danielle, who had a folder in her hand. She
closed the door behind her and took a seat across from my desk, opened
the folder in her lap and began to read.
"Calvin Jessup Purdy, 35, founder of..."
"The Institute for Proactive Management," I said, finishing her
sentence.
"How did you...?"
"From googling The Program," I replied, filling her in on the origin of
this bizarre curriculum.
"High school kids?" Dani said, incredulous. "And they...touch each
other?"
"They do more than that," I said, sending a copy of The Pamphlet to my
printer. As it began to churn out the pages she handed me the dossier
she'd compiled on Cal. Psych major at Duke, MBA from Wharton, doctoral
studies at Stanford incomplete. Held positions in marketing and human
resources before founding the Institute with a Wharton classmate. I
read through his resume and curriculum vitae before getting to the real
dirt.
Cal was on the sex offender registries in three states. He was
classified as "low risk" as all of his convictions were for indecent
exposure. And there was more: Cal liked to write pornographic stories
under his own name and post them on the newsgroups. Dani had printed a
list of his stories; most of the titles seemed to indicate that they
were all about exhibitionism and humiliation, with characters who were
forced to strip naked in public.
"That sick fucker," I said.
"No kidding," Dani said. "I read one of his stories, well, part of one.
Couldn't finish it."
"This is dynamite, Dani." I put down the folder and hugged her.
"Thanks."
"What are you going to do with it?"
"Take it to the Old Man, I guess."
"Need backup? I'm here for you."
"Thanks, Dani, but I've got to do it by myself."
"I understand," she said, getting up from the couch. "If you change
your mind..."
"I'll let you know. Thanks."
As Dani smiled and left my office I returned to my desk. An
overwhelming curiosity compelled me to seek out one of Cal's stories. I
found them easily enough. Apparently, he had quite a following; they
were archived on a number of sites.
The funny thing was that he wasn't half bad as a writer. Sure, he
lapsed into cliche at times, but he spun a good tale. It didn't take me
long to realize that the protagonist of most of his stories was none
other than Cal himself, and I began to enjoy reading how he suffered
through a series of humiliations at the hands of a dominatrix, from
being forced to wear women's underwear to having to crawl naked through
a shopping mall. When she tied him to a chair and made him fellate a
dildo, I found myself getting strangely aroused rather than disgusted as
Danielle had been. This was even better than Dani's dossier for an
insight into the consultant's personality. I printed the story; more
ammunition for my meeting with the Old Man.
I picked up the phone and dialed Darla's extension. She was the Old
Man's administrative assistant, and though I could have just gone there
and knocked on his office door, I wanted to make sure that Cal wasn't
with him.
"Ed Foley's office," Darla said.
"Darla, it's Zoe. Is he still with that consultant?"
"That asshole's gone," she replied. "Zoe, it's not right..."
"Don't worry about that," I said. "I just want to talk to him and clear
this up."
"You go girl. I'll hold his calls for you."
"Thanks, hon. Be right there."
I grabbed Cal's story from the printer and slipped it into the folder.
Taking a deep breath, I opened my office door and strided towards the
Old Man's corner office. There were no cameras this time, but the
prairie dogs were peeking over the cubicle walls, watching me as I
walked past Darla's desk and knocked on the boss's door. Darla had put
her caller on hold and flashed me the raised fist sign. Solidarity.
"Come!" a voice resounded from behind the paneled door. I took another
deep breath and opened it.
"About time," the Old Man said. "I expected you earlier."
"You fucking asshole," I said, closing the door behind me. "This is
about Chicago, isn't it, Ed?"
"No, Zoe. It's not about Chicago." He had his feet up on the desk and
was puffing on a cigar. "Sit down and we'll talk."
Three years ago, I'd accompanied the Old Man to a trade show in Chicago,
commercial real estate developers and agents, vendors, contractors, and
consultants. That first night, after we'd set up our booth on the
convention hall floor, he and I went out for dinner and drinks. Nothing
serious, just two co-workers far from home, enjoying each other's
company.
We ended up in bed, of course.
Ed was still married at the time, and I'd been dating a man I hoped
would propose to me, so when the Old Man invoked the 250 mile rule --
it's not infidelity if you're that far from your significant other -- I
went along with his rationalization. I'd been pretty drunk at the time,
and I'd just as soon forget what happened and get on with my life and
career.
A year later, after his divorce became final, Ed asked me out on a
dinner date. I was sober enough to tell him that it wasn't a good idea,
and he seemed to take it well. Still, I couldn't help but wonder if he
harbored some resentment.
"It's not about Chicago, Zoe," the Old Man said, taking his feet off of
the desk and looking me straight in the eyes. "Well, there was one
thing..."
"What?"
"That night in the hotel room, after we raided the mini-bar..."
"What about it?"
"You told me about your parents."
"What about them?" I asked. My memory of that night was somewhat hazy
thanks to all the apple martinis we'd had at Morton's.
"Nudists," he said. "They were nudists. So were you."
"I told you about that?"
"You told me everything, Zoe," the Old Man said. "You weren't last
place in sales. Marie was. But I had Cal choose you because I thought
you could deal with this better."
"You son of a..."
"Now, now, Zoe." He came around from behind the desk and sat down in
the chair next to me, placing his hand on mine. I suppressed the urge
to pull it away. "I'm trying to shake things up here, to pull us out of
our slump. You can help me. Play along, just for a week, and I'll make
it worth your while."
"And if I don't?"
"That's your choice, Zoe. Year-to-date, you're not in the top three,
but you've closed some of the longest term leases we have. BioTrend?
That's yours. Imperial Bank? All yours. Fifty branches over the last
three years. Only Woody does better and that's just because he knows
the Federal bidding process inside out."
"Ed, I just don't feel right..."
"Look, I said I'd make it worth your while," he said. "How's the beach
house sound? Plus, I'll kick in taxes and utilities for five years."
"The beach house? Didn't Marla get...?" Ed had battled Marla, his ex-
wife, for a year, in and out of court. Their kids were grown and out of
the house, but there was plenty of property to fight over.
"She wishes," he said. "I kept it. Stick this out for a week and it's
yours."
"Taxes, utilities, and insurance for ten years," I said, looking him
straight in the eye. He stared back at me and then smiled.
"Deal." Ed held out his hand and I shook it. "What's in the folder?"
"Just some shit I dug up on Cal," I said. The Old Man didn't need to
know about Danielle's involvement.
"Oh, his stories?"
"You know about these?"
"Yeah," the Old Man said, getting up and re-lighting his cigar and
sitting on the edge of his desk. "Darla found them for me. Pretty
kinky, wouldn't you say?"
"I'll say. He's one twisted..."
"He gets results," Ed said. "It's not enough to survive this slump. We
have to thrive. You can help us." His gaze was fixed on my breasts.
"You already sold me, Ed," I said, standing up. "And my eyes are up
here."
"Heh, sorry. Seeing anyone these days?"
"That's none of your business."
"You're right. It's isn't. But I wish we had..."
"Ed, this better fucking work or I'll..."
"Or you'll sue me," he said. "I know, I know."
"Just so we're clear on this."
"We are," the Old Man said.
I turned and left his office, feeling Darla's eyes burning a hole in my
back. I suppose she expected some fireworks and I disappointed her by
caving in to the boss. I disappointed myself, selling out my principles
and my co-workers' dignity for a cottage on the beach. I felt dirty.
Back in my office, I got my e-mail. There was a message from Roger,
asking me out to dinner that night. Poor guy couldn't do it face-to-
face. I replied by saying that I had plans; maybe some other time.
This was shaping up to be the worst day of my life and I was in no mood
to go on a charity date with our resident geek.
There was another knock on the door. This was getting ridiculous. My
office was getting more traffic in one morning than it had in a week.
This time it was Woody, who was blushing and averting his eyes as he
entered my office.
"I thought you might like to have lunch brought in for you," he said,
looking down at his feet, up at the ceiling, out the window. Anywhere
but my breasts.
"That's sweet of you, Woody. I'd like that."
"Great, how does, um, how about something from the deli downstairs?"
"Just a salad, please."
"Okay, a salad," he said, blushing so hard I thought he'd have a stroke.
"Drink?"
"Iced tea, thanks," I said. "You know, it's okay to look, Woody. I
don't mind."
"I...I couldn't," he said with a nervous chuckle. "It wouldn't be
right. I mean, I'm...I've...Theresa..." Woody and Terry had been
married for 23 years.
"Woody," I said, folding my arms over my breasts. "It's okay." With my
assets hidden, he finally looked me in the eye and grinned. As he left
the office Danielle poked her head in.
"How'd it go?" she asked me.
"Come in and close the door," I replied, telling her how I'd sold out to
the Old Man, and revealing what had happened in Chicago. She took it
all in quietly, shaking her head as she listened.
"I'm terrible, aren't I, Dani?"
"No, Zoe. You did the right thing."
"No I didn't."
"Yes, you did," she said. "What's the alternative? Layoffs. Chapter
11. The end of the firm."
"But I sold out."
"For a damn good price, girl. I'd kill for that house."
"You think?"
"It's like your own reality show," Danielle said. "At the end of the
week you get the prize. At least you're not strutting your stuff in
front of fifty million people."
Danielle, sensible Dani. I wanted to kiss her for this. She settled
for a hug before she left.
Alone at last, at least until lunch, I tried to put The Program and
everything else out of my mind and get to work. It wasn't easy, though.
For one thing, I was mentally decorating the beach house, redoing the
bedroom in pale peach with red accents. And it was hard to ignore the
fact that I was sitting in my office stark naked. It felt naughty,
forbidden, unlike my younger days when nudity was something mundane, a
natural state.
As lunchtime approached, I began to feel like I was going to freeze to
death. Like most offices, the air conditioning was set to "Polar
Icecap". Even during the summer months, the female employees kept
sweaters handy, draped on the backs of chairs or hanging on dividers.
The male staffers, most of them in suits, didn't seem to mind.
I pushed one of my chairs over to the wall, standing on the seat so I
could reach the ventilator. There was a small metal tab that closed the
louvers, something I hoped would stop the flow of arctic air into my
office. As I struggled with the tab, trying not to break a nail,
someone knocked on the door.
"Woody's back with lunch," Marie said, stepping into my office.
"Thanks. Be there in a minute." The tab, which probably had never been
adjusted since it was installed, began to loosen. It took a second to
figure out which direction closed the vent, and just as I wrestled it to
the right position I felt a pair of hands on my hips.
"Just want to make sure you don't fall," Marie said.
"Almost got it," I said. "Thanks, hon."
"My pleasure," she purred, not so much holding me as caressing my hips.
I could feel her breath on my bottom and I half-expected her to kiss me
there.
"There," I said, finally closing the vent. "You can let go now, Marie."
She did, albeit slowly, drawing her hands down over my thighs.
"Goosebumps," she said as I stepped off of the chair. "You must have
been cold."
"Freezing," I said, turning to face her.
"Your nipples," she giggled, hesitantly reaching out to touch one. They
were so stiff and pebbly that they almost hurt.
"Yours, too," I said, seeing the lumps that pushed against the cup of
her bra.
"It's not from the cold," she whispered, drawing closer to me. "You're
lovely, Zoe." Our lips were barely inches apart and my heart was
pounding in my chest as I knew what was going to happen. I'd never
kissed another woman before, but I felt as if I'd shed my inhibitions
along with my clothes. It seemed as if everything that had happened
this day was leading to this moment. I felt a chill running down my
spine as my breasts touched Marie's bra. Her perfume intoxicated me --
Obsession, one of my favorites -- and I tilted my head, ready to accept
her kiss. I wondered what it would feel like as our lips made the
barest contact.
I didn't get the chance. At the sound of the knock at the door we
separated quickly. I caught a glimpse of the flush that had spread over
Marie's chest as Danielle opened the door.
"Woody's back with lunch," Dani said. "You eating here or in the
conference room?"
"I'll eat with you guys," I said. "Be there in a sec."
Danielle left the door open when she left. Our moment spoiled, Marie
and I smiled sheepishly at each other and she left, trailing the scent
of Obsession. I took a moment to catch my breath before following her
out of my office.
Woody was already wolfing down his pastrami sandwich when I entered the
conference room. Hal and Hazel were there, too, eating takeout from the
Chinese place down the block. As Marie and I sat down and took our
salads from the shopping bag, Roger and Larry joined us. Danielle came
in a minute later with her usual container of fruit salad and cottage
cheese.
It would have been lunch like any other day at the office if three of us
hadn't been in various states of undress. I had Marie, Woody, and Roger
stealing glances at my tits while Hal and Hazel fed each other morsels
of General Gau's Chicken with chopsticks.
"I'm starting to like this Program thing," Hazel said as she ran her
hand over her fiance's bare chest. "I might have to keep Hal naked at
home."
"You don't do that already?" Larry quipped.
"Well, not all the time," Hazel giggled, reaching under the table.
"Hey, keep your hands above the waist, honey," Hal protested. "Let's
have some decorum here, okay?"
"What a prude," Danielle said. "You guys can have my office for a
nooner if you want." Hazel laughed again and whispered something in
Hal's ear that made him turn crimson.
"How's everybody doing?" Cal said, sticking his head through the
doorway.
"Did the landscaping crew turn over your rock by mistake?" Larry
sneered. Cal just smiled at this; you had to have thick skin to be an
asshole of his magnitude.
"Don't you have some stories to write?" I said, picking at the remains
of my salad.
"Ah, I see you know how to use a search engine." He winked at me, a
gesture that reminded me more of a reptile than a mammal.
"Yeah, I typed 'sick motherfucker' into Google and your name came right
up."
"Just lay back and enjoy it, Zoe," Cal said.
"That's it, pal," Woody barked, dropping his sandwich and pushing back
his chair. His hands were balled into fists as he turned to face the
consultant.
"Hey, hey, relax," Cal said, backing away from the door.
"Apologize to the lady," Woody demanded.
"Come on, I was only kidd..."
"Apologize." Woody might have had a few excess pounds on him these
days, but he carried himself like a prizefighter. It took half a second
for him to cross the conference room and wrap his hand around Cal's
neck.
"Okay, okay," Cal croaked. "I'm sorry."
"Say it to her."
"I'm sorry, Zoe."
"That's better," Woody said, releasing Cal's neck. "Get outta here."
"I'm going, I'm going..." Cal slithered away and Woody returned to the
table.
"Holy shit," Larry said. "I think Cal's changing his pants now."
"Dude, that was awesome," Hal added.
"Sorry," Woody said, "He just burns my..."
"Thanks," I said, reaching across the table for his hand. That was the
second time today that someone had come to "defend my honor". I guess
chivalry isn't dead. It just smells funny.
"You're welcome," Woody said, still trying not to look at my breasts but
failing miserably.
"I should start an office pool," Marie said. "Who's going to be the
first to hit Cal."
"My money's on Zoe," Dani laughed. "I'd hate to see that kickboxing
class we took go to waste."
The rest of our lunch hour was like any other, shop talk, gossip,
Hazel's wedding plans. Afterwards, Danielle stood guard at the men's
room door while I went to the bathroom. Fortunately, it was empty when
I entered. We went back to our offices and I stopped by Cheryl's to see
how she was doing.
"I'm so sorry, Zoe," Cheryl said, still groggy from the pill, though
she'd managed to put herself back together and make some calls. "I
don't know what got into me."
"It's okay," I said, taking her hand. "Happens to the best of us." She
smiled wanly and I left her to her work.
Danielle had given me the Dorfmann account to close, so I put in a call
to his office to let them know that I was handling their lease.
Dorfmann and Sons were a discount furniture outlet and they'd been
expanding rapidly over the last few years, adding stores in just about
every strip mall and shopping center in the area. I'd met Dorfmann
senior once before; as with any head of a company who'd worked his way
up the ranks he liked to bargain and you never knew when the deal was
done. There was always one last thing he'd want added, one more item on
a punch list.
Dorfmann returned my call an hour later, curious about why Danielle had
handed off his account. I mumbled something about Dani having to give a
deposition in a law suit, an event that happened all too often.
Restauranteurs were notorious for this, calling in the lawyers if an
electrical outlet was two inches too high from the floor.
I'd hoped to push off most if not all of my client meetings until the
following week, when I'd be dressed instead of naked, but Dorfmann
insisted on meeting me that afternoon. I tried to put him off but he
was adamant, threatening to pull his account and take his business to
our competitors. Finally, I relented, agreeing to see him that day.
I thought I could meet him at his office and drop by my apartment on the
way, giving me a chance to put on some clothes. Screw that Program, I
thought. I'm not going out like this, regardless of what I agreed to.
But Dorfmann insisted on coming here for the meeting. I was beginning
to realize why Dani had pawned his account off on me. The man was as
stubborn as a yak.
"Fine, how about three this afternoon?" I said.
"Hang on, lemme see...yeah. That's good," he said. He was on a cell
phone and I could hear the sounds of traffic in the background.
After he hung up, I spent the time before the meeting going over his
file. Sure enough, he wanted the HVAC upgraded and new wiring in the
front of the store, even though the heating and air conditioning system
were only two years old and the previous occupant had been an appliance
store. There was plenty of power for a furniture discounter. A couple
of calls to contractors later, I had some ball park estimates. A formal
bid would take a few days but I'd at least have something to work with.
Three o' clock came all too quickly. Hazel buzzed me on the phone to
let him know that Dorfmann had arrived, and I reflexively stood to
smooth the wrinkles out of clothes that I wasn't even wearing. I was
standing behind my desk when Hazel knocked on the door.
"Mr. Dorfmann to see you, Zoe," she said with a barely suppressed
giggle.
"Hi, I'm Sid Dorf..." He'd taken two steps into my office before he
realized that I was naked. His hand was extended and his jaw had fallen
almost level with his round belly.
"Zoe Youngblood," I said, trying to stay cool and collected. I leaned
over the desk and shook his hand. "I believe we've met before."
"What th' fuck?" Sid Dorfmann said. "What is this, Candid Camera?" He
looked around the office for hidden cameras.
"Have a seat, Mr. Dorfmann."
"No, really," he said, guiding himself into one of the chairs across
from my desk. "Is this some sort of reality show? Are we on TV?"
"It's hard to explain," I said, sitting down and opening his folder.
"Let's just say that I lost a bet."
"And how," he said. "Holy shit. And to think I was going to pull my
account."
"We couldn't have that happen," I said. "So, about the heating
plant..."
"Fuck the heating plant," Dorfmann said. "It's fine. I love it."
"But you said..."
"But nothing. It's two years old, right?"
"Right. And the electrical service?"
"It's perfect. I could run a welding shop outta that place. Look, I'm
ready to close today, right now, but..."
"But what?" I had the feeling that I wouldn't like what was coming and
the way he leaned forward in his seat did nothing to dispel this notion.
"I'll cut a check right here, right now," Dorfmann said, "but I want a
lap dance first."
"A what?"
"A lap dance. You know, like in a titty bar." His laugh was worthy of
Jabba the Hutt.
I slammed his folder shut and sat fuming behind my desk, feeling the
last shreds of my dignity and professionalism melt away like an ice cube
in the desert.
"Hey, I could go to Simonds right now," Dorfmann said, invoking the name
of our closest competitor. "It's not like I'm asking for a blowjob."
"Go ahead, then." I began to wonder how long it would take to clear out
my desk.
"Hey, hey, just kidding," Dorfmann said. "But if you did give me a lap
dance I'll double the contract. Eight years."
"Eight?"
"Eight."
Now I was tempted. Double the lease, double the commission. I'd be
wearing clothes next week for sure. I mulled it over for a minute and
nodded. Dorfmann chuckled as he got up from the chair and sat down on
the couch, unbuttoning his jacket and loosening his tie. I imagined him
doing just that in a strip joint downtown every night.
"I've never done this," I said as I walked out from behind my desk and
stood before him. "What am I supposed to do?"
"Start off by dancing," he said. "Shake those little titties of yours."
And that's what I did, slowly and hesitantly at first, closing my eyes
and imagining the music. Eight years, I kept thinking. Eight years.
What would I do for twelve?
"Closer," he said, settling into the couch. "It's called a lap dance
for a reason." I leaned over him, cupping my breasts as I swiveled my
hips, and he licked his lips and smiled.
Hazel had a coffee mug that had "If you can't get out of it, get into
it." printed on the side. That's what I thought as I shook my boobs in
Dorfmann's face. I started to get into it, straddling his lap and
squirming on his thighs. Marie's near-kiss had left me unsettled and
somewhat horny. Now I was writhing on top of a portly, balding, fifty-
five-year-old man for an extra few thousand dollars in commissions. I
was beginning to realize that there wasn't much I wouldn't do.
"That's it, baby," Dorfmann said as I began to grind my cleft against
the bulge in his trousers. "Just like that..."
"Twelve years?" I cooed, feeling the hardness inside his pants.
"Aw, honey..."
"Come on, Sid," I whispered, wrapping my arms around his neck and
pressing my pussy against his crotch. "I...need...twelve..."
"Aw, geez..." he said, trying to resist the temptation to touch me. I'd
never been to a strip club, but I did know that the patrons weren't
allowed to touch the dancers, at least not in this city. I also knew
that Sid Dorfmann was about to have a sticky mess in his pants.
"You can touch me, Sid," I whispered in his ear. "Go ahead."
I can't say that I didn't enjoy this. It wasn't about the money or even
the pleasurable feeling of Sid's lap mogul as it rubbed against my sex.
It was the power I had over this man, a client notorious for his
stubbornness reduced to a quivering mass of jelly on my office couch.
As his hands cupped my breasts I thought I could have squeezed a fifty-
year lease out of him.
"Mmmmm...so good," I cooed as his fat fingers flicked over my pebbly
nipples. That's when he groaned and pushed his hips up from the couch,
pressing his bulging crotch against me. I could feel a spreading warmth
on the fabric of his trousers.
"Aw, crap," he gasped. "Shit. Okay. Twelve years." Sid's hands fell
from my breasts as he leaned back against the couch, his face shiny with
perspiration. "Holy shit..."
"Thanks, Sid," I said, giving him a quick peck before getting up from
his lap. There was a dark stain on the front of his trousers.
"Fax me a new contract and I'll have a check cut," he said as he got up
from the couch.
"A pleasure doing business with you," I said, holding out my hand.
Dorfmann smiled and shook it and then he was gone, holding his briefcase
over the stain on his crotch.
Now I was really horny, beyond horny, so aroused I felt cramps, but
there was nothing I could do about it now. Not in the office, at least.
I'd have to wait until I got home, maybe spend some quality time with my
shower massage head. Anyway, I had to amend Dorfmann's contract and fax
it over. That would take the rest of the afternoon.
It was right before five when Dani knocked on my door. Sid Dorfmann
already had the signed contract and the check sent over by courier. Her
eyes popped out when I showed her the terms.
"Twelve? You got twelve years out of him?" she said. "I had to grovel
for four."
"Hey, maybe there is something to this Program," I said.
"What did you have to promise him for this?"
"Nothing. Just the usual build-out."
"I don't believe it," Dani said. "What did you do? You had to do
something."
"Just a lap dance," I said as I got dressed.
"A what?"
"A lap dance. He made a mess of his trousers, too."
"You're bad," Danielle laughed. "You're an evil woman, Zoe."
"Don't I know it," I said as I hooked my bra. "How about drinks? On me
tonight."
"Only if you tell me all about it," Dani said. "And I want details."
We weren't the only ones who needed refreshments at the end of the day.
On our way out of the office we collected Cheryl, Marie, Larry, and
Woody. Lee, Garrick, and Dave joined us soon after, and even Darla came
out for a beer. Hal and Hazel would have come out, too, but they seemed
eager to get home, no doubt to fuck like bunnies. We sat around the big
table at the back of McPherson's Pub, our usual watering hole, reading
out loud from some of Cal's stories that Dani had printed out, laughing
as we imagined him being abused by his fictitious dominatrix and her
strap-on dildo.
I felt relaxed for the first time that day. I'd lap danced my way out
of the doghouse and I'd have the title to the Old Man's seaside cottage
by the end of the week. It wasn't going to be such a long week after
all.
There was just one thing amiss: I felt weird wearing clothes.
* * *
(c) 2003 Anais Ninja
anais_ninja@hotmail.com
/~anais_ninja/