The following story contains adult material.  If below the age of 18, go
outside, get some fresh air and do something healthy (g).

      If you ARE 18, then you should know the following story is about a young
woman who is forced into non-consensual sex, public humiliation, and b&d, in
both m/f and f/f situations.  Both the characters and occurences in this series
are completely fictitious.


                                  The Mortgage
                                  by Marlissa

      The Mortgage is a ten part story about how an older man manipulates a
young newlywed wife into becoming first, his secretary and then eventually his
personal sexual plaything, both on and off-the-job.  He accomplishes this by
first threatening her with the loss of her and her husband's home and plunging
them into bankruptcy, and then gradually by forcing her to engage in acts that
provide him ample leverage to blackmail her into engaging in farther
humiliating acts, both public and in private. The second half of the story
involves the man's daughter and how she takes advantage of the situation
herself.

      The story was written with heavy editing and advice of PARKER, and if
it's readable at all, it's because of his wise words.  I hope those of you
familiar with PARKER's work will see some resemblance here -- it was my
foremost objective to produce something at least half as good as anything he's
written! For those of you unfamiliar with PARKER's work, get thee to an
internet address/adult bbs and look for STACEY'S SENIOR YEAR, BLACKOUT, CAREER
OPPORTUNITIES and his others -- you won't be disappointed. Thanks again,
PARKER, for your patience, help and numerous suggestions -- all of which made
the story far more than it was initially.

      FINAL NOTE:  Sorry if this comes off as mysogynistic (as it must
necessarily seem) but it is FANTASY.  If you don't like it, don't read it.
Simple, simple, simple.


                               (NC, M/F, F/F, BD)

      The following story contains adult material.  If below the age of 18, go
outside, get some fresh air and do something healthy (g).

      If you ARE 18, then you should know the following story is about a young
woman who is forced into non-consensual sex, public humiliation, and b&d, in
both m/f and f/f situations.  Both the characters and occurrences in this
fiction are completely fictitious.

                                  The Mortgage
                                  by Marlissa

                                    PART ONE

      Amy looked over at the secretaries busily preparing banking documents,
the clicking-clacking of computer printers and typewriters filling the
cavernous bank with the sounds of mortgages being prepared, deeds being
registered, statements being generated for scores of homeowners.  Each and
every day thousands of mortgages are processed, each representing struggle,
persistence and a whole change of life. Owning property -- it was The American
Dream, a dream which had just come true for she and her husband.

      Amy fidgeted with her purse as she sat waiting for Bob Baines in the
lobby of the First Metropolitan Bank.  She was pleased he'd been able to see
her on such short notice, but dealing with institutions made her nervous.  She
had last been in the granite floored and mahogany paneled lobby three months
ago -- definitely a happier occasion.  Amy Walenski smiled warmly at the memory
-- Wendell, her husband to be, and she had received the mortgage they'd worried
so incessantly about.  Bob Baines had been their best friend in the world then,
congratulating the couple on the maturity and hard work it had taken to put
their down payment together.  "Not every newly wed couple is able to buy a home
so soon after graduation from high school," he'd commented approvingly. "You
two should be very proud of yourselves."

      How Wendell had beamed at that!  At twenty, he'd already put together a
small nest egg of two thousand dollars.  That combined with Amy's thousand
dollar savings account, built with hard-earned tips from her after-school
waitressing job at the car hop, had put them over the top. They had enough to
buy the small starter home they had set their hearts on -- the small two
bedroom slab ranch that would be their first home.  There was more to it than
just the down payment of course. Wendell was making good money for a boy his
age in construction, but the bank still required his parents to co-sign the
loan. Though they had little themselves, they'd generously put their retirement
on the line and co-signed.  Amy was so lucky to have such wonderful in-laws,
especially since her own parents had passed away when she was all of three. She
was pleased to escape from the prison of her spinster aunt's home and the
feeling was mutual.  In retrospect, it'd been her aunt's utter meanness and the
prospect of escape that'd made the dream come true as much as scraping the
money together.  Wendell was her loving escape route, their marriage and home a
sanctuary for Amy.

      "Well, Amy! How are you? Hope you haven't been waiting long -- I'm
without a secretary at the moment and I never get my messages on time. Let's go
sit and talk."  Bob invited her to follow him back into his office.  The older
man escorted her to the executive office suite inside the bank building. His
warm greeting reassured her.  He had to know why she was there or at least
suspected.  And yet here he was, as pleasant as he could possibly be.  Amy
smiled.  His brisk, confident manner inspired her.  If this older man, so
impressive in his tailored blue pinstripe three piece suit and spit polished
black shoes couldn't solve this problem, she didn't know who could.  On his
wide desk, there was the Walenski mortgage file.  Amy just prayed there was a
way out hidden in it somehow.  Bob would find it if he could.

      And he would try to help them.  She just knew it.  She had known Bob
Baines from the time she was thirteen, had been friends with Kathryn his
daughter. Amy had spent lots of time at the Baines home till she and Kathryn
drifted apart about the time they had entered high school. Then they began to
part company -- Kathryn taking college preparatory classes, Amy taking more
general classes. They moved in different circles after awhile, having less and
less in common. Kathryn's flawless, delicate blonde rich girl looks and manners
might have pointed her for a sheltered life of leisure if it hadn't been for
her exceptional intelligence.  Her grades, except for a brief period during
which the Baines were divorced, remained As in virtually every subject.
 
      "So how are you kids making out?  Got any buns in the oven yet, my dear?"
Bob winked. "I bet that big husband of yours can't wait to make a baby with
such a pretty little wife like you!"

      Amy blushed.  "We'd like to try, Bob.  Actually Wendell wants me to be a
stay-home mom.  He wants an old-fashioned wife and have just a bunch of kids!"

      Bob grinned.  "Good for you two!  And heck the practice is fun anyway, am
I right Amy?" he playfully added.

      Amy's face went from pale to pink, a flush rising on both cheeks and the
banker laughed it off.

      "How's Kathryn?" she asked brightly.  It was always good to ask about
her.  Bob loved talking about his very successful, very beautiful daughter.

      Bob glowed at the question, his normal, banker's manner melting. Closing
the door to his office behind them, he answered the question with gushing
pride. "Well, she's just wonderful, thank you for asking! She graduated from
Princeton cum laude last month and has taken a job as investment analyst with
Merrill Lynch at their headquarters on Wall Street.  I met her fianci just last
week when I was in the City on business.  A nice fellow -- he's a producer for
the evening news.  All in all, things are working out just wonderfully for them
-- I think they'll have a wonderful life.  A relief I admit after the messiness
of the divorce while she was in school.  Anyway, she asked about you and
Wendell and wanted to be remembered to you."

      Amy smiled sympathetically.  The divorce had been nasty, a mini-scandal
in Bentson County.  The former Missus Baines had accused her ex of physical,
mental and emotional abuse, claiming he was a veritable sadist and an alcoholic
to boot.  It was whispered that her claims of abuse went farther, that her
husband had done things to her and inflicted pain on her in ways too
humiliating to fully reveal, but it was agreed this was pure grandstanding for
the family court judge, a well-known liberal.  For his part, Bob Baines had
brushed off the accusations as the typical ravings of a greedy divorce
plaintive.  He refused to answer the charges, saying to do so would hurt their
daughter.  Then something had happened, because the messy divorce was declared
no-fault and Mrs. Baines left the area almost immediately. The reason for Mrs.
Baine's sudden absence was never explained, but the police let it be known that
there was no hint of impropriety on the part of Mr. Baines.  There was a very
good reason why Mrs. Baines hadn't stayed to fight it out in the divorce court,
the police chief implied, and the matter should be laid to rest.

      For all that , Amy was not a little jealous of her old childhood friend.
She wasn't gorgeous like her friend, though she was pretty. Her looks were dark
-- long straight brown hair, soft big chestnut hued eyes, thick eyebrows and
long thick black lashes.  Her face wasn't classic, but it was cute -- her small
chin, her little puckering mouth, and a bit- too-long, thin nose had been
attractive enough to get her Wendell to notice her.  And her skin was clear and
flawless, just like an "Ivory Girl" Wendell said proudly.  And where Kathyrn
had a drop-dead knock-out figure, Amy was a slim-hipped, small busted girl that
wouldn't exactly make it into a centerfold for Playboy magazine. But it was a
body that Wendell loved to hold and enjoy and that was enough for Amy. And of
all the advantages that Kathryn enjoyed, none could compare to the one thing
that Amy had that Kathryn did not -- Wendell.

      Amy still didn't know why Wendell had chosen her when he had Kathryn
Baines chasing after him.  It was the perfect match, every one agreed. Wendell
was the school hero -- the big strong captain of the Bentson High varsity
football squad, so good that big school coaches had already begun recruiting
him early in Junior year with promises of scholarships.  Kathyrn was the
cheerleader captain, class president, president of the student council and any
other honor she wished.  How could mousy, flat little Amy compete with Kathyrn
Baines, Bentson High's version of Wonder Woman?  But Wendell had found her and
she him, asking her on dates after big games, then the Winter Ball. Ignoring
Kathryn, Wendell devoted himself entirely to the quiet, simple girl he was fast
falling in love with because as he told Amy later, "she just wanted me because
I would take the best prom picture with her.  I want a woman who will be with
me for a long time, Amy.  Kathryn would dump me as soon as she found someone
better, smarter, richer."

      At first, Kathryn was furious, then pretended to ignore the slight,
laughing it off.  As weeks went on, the sight of Wendell and Amy together in
the hallway sent her scurrying in the opposite direction. She didn't speak to
either of them, even refusing to talk about them with others.  Kids in the
class talked incessantly about Kathryn's stubbornness, then her increasing
depression.  It was understandable -- her failure with Wendell was the first
anyone could ever remember. Kathryn Baines had ALWAYS gotten everything she
wanted.  The shock at this failure was profound.  When it was quietly announced
that she was transferring to a Swiss girl's school to finish out her high
school, Amy had tried to contact her old friend, to apologize, to tell Kathryn
it wasn't her fault.  But she had left by then and Amy never got a response.

      Anyway, Kathryn sounded like she was living a glamorous life, what with
her Ivy League education and big city job and fianci.  Amy had to be content
with her life as a young woman with a high school diploma here in dull, dull
Benston. She didn't have Kathryn's beauty or brains and never would.  She knew
that. But she did have Wendell and their little house, at least she could take
comfort in that.  And maybe soon they would have children and her life would be
as perfect as she could make it.  She would be the perfect homemaker for
Wendell, making him proud of her.  If only she could find a solution, get over
this bump in the road...

               In Part Two -- Mr. Baines offers Amy a way out...


                               (NC, M/F, F/F, BD)

      The following story contains adult material.  If below the age of 18, go
outside, get some fresh air and do something healthy (g).

      If you ARE 18, then you should know the following story is about a young
woman who is forced into non-consensual sex, public humiliation, and b&d, in
both m/f and f/f situations.  Both the characters and occurences in this series
are completely fictitious.

                                  The Mortgage
                                  by Marlissa

                                    PART TWO

      Bob cleared his throat politely. "So, tell me Amy, what did you want to
see me about?"

      Amy smiled bravely and dove in head first. "Well, Bob it is about our
mortgage --"

      His immediate reaction caught her off guard. "You're late on your very
first mortgage payment. Several weeks overdue, as a matter of fact." His tone
was neutral, bordering on accusatory -- the banker coming out.

      Amy looked down, playing with a button on her white blouse. Without
looking at the older man, she spoke into her lap. "Well, you see, Wendell, uh,
he lost his job right after we were approved and he hasn't been able to find
work since then -- but he's looking real hard. I was hoping you could help us
Bob, the way you helped us to get the loan. Maybe bend a few rules like you did
when we applied. Just maybe give us an extension Bob -- Wendell just knows he's
going to get a job soon. He's down at Unemployment now, that's why he couldn't
come with me."

      The banker didn't blink, didn't respond at all. She thought he'd be angry
-- he had worked with them so closely to help them organize their finances. But
no -- he merely looked at her with those emotionless blue eyes. He opened the
file and read silently.

      "Empire Building, that is where Wendell was working -- right?"

      She nodded.

      He shook his head. "Too bad. He was making good money -- almost thirty
thousand a year, that right?"

      Amy smiled proudly. Wendell was doing so well for his age. "Yes, Bob, and
I just know he'll get another job like it very soon. And he thinks he might be
called back any day now, when they get reorganized. Right now he's ready to
take anything he can get and we're sure he'll get something." She nodded as she
said it, trying to show him how much he should believe her.

      A thin smile, then a shake of his steel gray haired head. "Possibly. Now,
you say Wendell may get called back. He won't. Empire is bankrupt. They owe the
bank hundreds of thousands of dollars. It has been coming for a long, long
time. They are so deep in the red that it's clear that that they'll never open
again. Believe me, when I heard about this from the Commercial Loan people I
couldn't have been more surprised."

      Amy was stunned. When they had submitted their mortgage application, Mr.
Baines had been the one that said Empire was a "solid company" that would be
around for many years to come. He even said they might be expanding soon, with
promotions and raises possible. That had only been three months ago!

      "And," he continued passionlessly, "there's no other construction firm in
the whole county that will be hiring. In fact, with the economy slowing down
every day more and more, there will be more, not less, construction workers on
the street. older, more experienced men with connections. So I don't think
Wendell will have any luck getting a construction job any time soon. I doubt
construction will come back into the area for at least five years." A small,
curious smile spread on his lips. "What other prospects does Wendell have? What
is his degree in anyway" He looked at her expectantly, picking up a gold pen
ready to write down her answer. There was more in the look too, something she
remembered from long ago.

      When she had last stayed over for a slumber party at Kathryn's, Amy had
been fifteen. After the other girls had gone to sleep, Amy had woken up to get
a drink of water. It had been late and she was sure she was alone as she turned
the tap in the dark kitchen. A sound from the kitchen table frightened her and
she had turned to see a bloodshot Mr. Baines having a drink in the dark by
himself. She was blooming then into full womanhood, her breasts swelling under
her nightie tee shirt, her panties pulling tighter around her widening hips. He
had licked his lips and said that she was a pretty girl while examining her in
her sleep clothes. She had thanked him and tiptoed out quickly, embarrassed at
the way he had been looking at her in her underthings. Amy could swear he had
the same look in his eyes now.

      "Degree? Wendell, uh, didn't go to college, Bob."

      Baines looked up, a puzzled look on his face. "I thought your husband was
a big football star or something in high school. I had heard he was being
recruited by some big school sin the East."

      Amy sighed. "He was till the accident. Wendell was going to Boston
College on a full scholarship. Then, after the accident, he couldn't play any
more. So he went to work right away."

      Baines exhaled and looked at Amy with kinder eyes. "That's right -- I
forgot. A hit and run wasn't it? Thank God he wasn't too seriously hurt. But it
was a tragedy about his legs. You can't be a quarterback without being able to
run a quick four-forty. Awful. And they never got the guy, did they?"

      Amy shook her head and Baines returned to his earlier question, gently
prodding. "O.k., no college degree makes it tougher, but I'm sure you two have
thought about your options. What else does Wendell have in mind for work?"

      "Uh, well, I don't know."

      Mr. Baines chuckled. "Not a good answer Amy. Not a good answer at all.
How will you meet your adult obligations, my dear? What kind of assets do you
have?"

      Amy shook her head. "I don't know! Nothing -- just our principal."

      "And that's not much to speak of at this point since you just bought the
house." He shook his head wearily, glancing back at the file. "Well, I guess
your in-laws will have to meet the obligation then. The bank will have to
require them to pay your mortgage."

      Her hands flew to her face, panicked at the prospect. She saw her
in-laws, kind yes, but poor and old. If they had to pay --

      "Yes, they'd lose their home to make up YOUR failure," Baines completed
her thought. "Too bad. They are older people and to lose your home at that
age... But at least the bank could sell their home to meet YOUR mortgage." He
sighed. "What a waste."

      Amy's head was swimming. Her world was falling apart. Bankrupt, all their
money lost, nothing left, no work...

      "Maybe there's a solution," Baines offered hopefully.

      Amy looked up, a wide grateful smile on her face for her savior. "Yes,
Mr. Baines?"

      He gave her that look again. She forced her smile to remain.

      "You might need to find work."

      Amy nodded. "I'm a hard worker, Mr. Baines! And I'll take anything!"

      That made him smile. "As you know, I feel somewhat responsible for you
two kids. Perhaps there might be something at the bank. Perhaps as a
secretary."

      She nodded. Amy would get a job, no problem. It would be work but if it
would help them keep the house...

      "Perhaps as my secretary, Amy. Would you be willing to take that position
if it was offered to you? On a temporary basis of course-- say a few weeks or
so. To be frank, I really need a properly trained secretary. However, I'm sure
you'd be up to answering the phone and handling my filing, at least for a
little while. And when Wendell gets a new job, you could leave." His slate eyes
softened, the eyes of an older friend trying to help. "And you'd be doing me a
favor -- as I said I'm without a secretary right now and it would really help
us both out."

      Relief spread through her like cool water. Crisis averted! Amy gathered
her strength. It would be all right, after all. Bob had come through for them.
She was happy she had come here today.

      "Yes, yes I would Bob. I can probably help you more than you think," she
played it calmly, nodding slowly. "I can type and take dictation and file. I
took secretarial classes in high school and I think I could do a very good job
for you, at least for a couple of weeks."

      Baines nodded, pleased to have solved the problem...but then a slight
frown creased his face.

      "What is it?" Amy asked, worried again.

      The banker tapped the mortgage with his gold pen. "Even working for me as
a temp won't solve your problem. This," he shuffled the mortgage file and
pulled out a red piece of paper, "is an internal notice to begin the
foreclosure process here at the bank. The mortgage has got to be paid right
away. Can you pay this today?"

      Amy shook her head sadly. "We don't have a cent, Bob! It took everything
we had to buy the house!"

      "And I overlooked the normal savings requirement too," Baines said in
reminded frustration. "Maybe, well..." He closed his eyes in thought and
pondered. Then he looked up. "Look Amy, I feel responsible and I want this to
work out for you kids. What if I agree to give you an advance on your temp pay
and cover the difference between your salary and the mortgage till Wendell gets
a job?"

      The grateful smile on Amy's face said it all. "Would you do that for us
Bob?"

      The older man nodded. "It will mean that I become a secondary creditor
after the bank. You'll have to sign a loan agreement with me, promising to pay
me back when Wendell gets his next job, but yes, Amy -- I think I'd be happy to
do that for you. Could you bring it home and get Wendell to sign it? It also
needs to be notarized."

      Amy felt like a huge weight had been lifted off of her back. "We'll sign
anything you like, Bob. And I can't tell you how grateful we are."

      Baines promised to have the papers drawn up and dropped off at the house.
He stood up and walked her to the door. "I'll see you tomorrow, Amy." His slate
eyes were so warm, so reassuring. "It's nice to have you aboard!"

                     In Part Three, Amy learns the ropes...


                               (NC, M/F, F/F, BD)

      The following story contains adult material.  If below the age of 18, go
outside, get some fresh air and do something healthy (g).

      If you ARE 18, then you should know the following story is about a young
woman who is forced into non-consensual sex, public humiliation, and b&d, in
both m/f and f/f situations.  Both the characters and occurrences in this
fiction are completely fictitious.


                                  The Mortgage
                                  By Marlissa

                                   PART THREE

      "What's going on next door, hon?  What are they building?" Amy asked,
setting a bag of precious groceries down on the table.  She was referring to
the construction going on in the big corner lot next door.  The air was filled
with the sounds of construction -- men and heavy equipment shaping the earth.

      Her husband shrugged.  "How should I know?" he responded angrily.
"Despite what you think, I'm not here all day."

It was starting already.  She hadn't been home two minutes.  "Just thought
there might be a job opportunity, that's all.  How did your search go today?"

      Wendell threw the paper across the room angrily.  "There's nothing out
there -- nothing!"

      Amy rubbed his back.  "Honey, it's just going to take a while -- that's
all! Don't get so down on yourself.  Really, it's all right!"  He was getting
so depressed these days.  It broke her heart to see him like this -- his
powerful frame bent over in frustration and shame.

      His eyes glared at her.  "Everywhere I go, I get the same thing --
'sorry, no openings.'  No construction jobs, nothing."  He was seething mad,
but she didn't rise to the bait.  It wasn't Amy he was mad at -- it was
himself.

      "What about the list of contacts Bob Baines gave me to give you?  Have
you tried them all?"

      Wendell ran a huge hand through his brown hair nervously.  "No -- I mean
yes I tried them all.  It was nice of him to offer to help but none of the
companies had work. Could you get me a beer?"

      Amy scurried to the fridge, bringing him back a cold one.  She wanted to
say something -- he was putting on weight by drinking so much -- but she held
her tongue. "Here you go honey.  Just go sit down and watch the news.  I'll
have dinner ready in a few minutes, o.k.?"  Wendell clambered up and switched
on the television.

      As she prepared a meatloaf, Amy looked at the calendar hanging on the
kitchen wall. Wendell had been out of work for four months to the day.  Dully,
she thought about how hard life had become since getting married.  She was so
tired all the time now, what with working at the bank AND cleaning the small
house AND making dinner.  And latter when they went to bed, Wendell would want
to make love to her -- and she would have to say no.  She sighed.  They hadn't
made love in weeks, practically since she had started temping at the bank.  She
never had the energy these days and knew it was frustrating him to no end.
Soon.  He'll get a job soon, she thought hopefully.

                                ****************

      Amy felt uncomfortable as she escorted the three strange men to Bob's
office. They were unlike the typical loan applicants, that was for sure.  True,
they wore expensive suits and were thoroughly polite (as much as the language
difference made that possible), but there was an edge to them that made her
skin crawl, a shark-like gleam in their eyes as they scanned the bank offices
-- and her.  She knew they were checking out her figure as she led them down
the hallway.  All strange, but Amy reminded herself,  you didn't often have
three South American businessmen doing business in Bentson County.  She could
feel their eyes on her ass as she knocked on Bob's door.

      "Your guests are here."  She opened the door and Bob greeted them in
fluent Spanish. Amy left the group, glad to be done with them,  as Bob shut the
door firmly.  Bob was amazing. She had had no idea he was so well-traveled and
could speak Spanish so well. You just never knew all a person's little secrets,
she thought.

      As she attended to her filing, she could hear raised voices from time to
time behind the great oak door.  Spanish words filled with anger, then calm,
then pleased.  Must be a big deal!  An hour later, Bob asked her to come in.

      "Amy, we need your help.  These gentlemen," he nodded toward the slick
young operators, "are with the Hemispheric Economic Development Commission and
represent some very major business interests.  Have you heard of NAFTA?  Yes,
well it has opened the way between institutions like First Metropolitan and
their organization to work together in each of our respective communities.
These gentlemen are interested in working with us to ensure their assets are
invested widely in all kinds of local businesses here in Bentson County."

      Amy smiled and nodded at the men.  To her disgust, they openly leered at
her. One stared right at her chest and laughed, saying something in Spanish to
the other two. They all then laughed.  Amy blushed.

      "That's great Bob.  Can I go now?"  These guys gave her the creeps!

      Bob nodded.  "In a minute.  We just need you to witness the agreement."
He pushed a stack of papers toward her, all legalese and written in
incomprehensible bank English.

      She picked up a pen, trying not to have her back face the three South
Americans.

      "Where should I sign?  There aren't any other signatures here."

      "We'll do that after you sign your name.  Sign here," Bob pointed out.
"And here. And here, and..."  Amy's eyes were bleary twenty minutes later after
signing her name in dozens of places on documents that all looked the same.  As
she signed the last one, she shook her hand in relief.

      "All set!  Can I go?"  She had to sign papers and documents on behalf of
Baines all day. It was a regular part of her job.  But this was ridiculous!

      The four men looked at her with wide smiles.  "Sure Amy, you can go.
Thanks for your help."

      She left, happy to be done with that annoying chore.  She took a late
lunch and by the time she returned to the bank, the three men were gone.

                                ****************

      I shouldn't be upset, Amy thought as she stormed out of Baine's office.
He was right. She had just be reprimanded by her boss and the thing was, he was
absolutely correct. She SHOULD have been addressing him more appropriately all
along.  This was a place of business and their relationship was that of boss
and secretary, not two family friends. Amy was lucky to have this job, even if
it was a temp position.  What was the big deal. Fine, from now on it would be
just like he said -- whenever she spoke to him, it would be 'Mr. Baines' or
'Sir.'

                                 **************

      She had thought he'd be pleased when he saw her reading the banking
magazines on her lunch hour.  Since she was temping it was more out of
curiosity, but still she wanted to make a good impression on Baines.  She
wanted to show him she had initiative, especially because of the way things
were working out.

      Things were changing somehow, getting more difficult for her.  Nothing
she did was quite right.  Though he remained calm and collected about it, Amy
knew she was disappointing him in some way.  The look in his face was almost
always one of strained tolerance, as if her performance left much to be
desired.

      So the magazines.  But when he saw her reading them, he became positively
furious. "What are you doing?"

      "J-just trying to learn more about the business, Sir!" she stammered,
confused. He was reacting as if she was doing something very, very wrong.

      "You are a secretary, for God's sakes!  Stick to your Vogues and Cosmos
and leave the banking to those who understand it -- got me!"

      She nodded her head, not a little hurt.  Later that day, she found an
apology note waiting for her.

      "Amy,

      Sorry I yelled at you, but you must understand that to do the best job
for me, you need only take direction and do what you are told.  In my
experience, reading just confuses a cute kid like you.  Stick to your fashion
magazines, o.k.?

      Your Boss, Mr. Baines"

      Underneath the note was the latest copy of Cosmopolitan magazine.

                                ***************

      "Try some.  I think you'll really like it."

      Amy took the proffered piece of chewing gum politely.  She wasn't a gum
chewer -- in fact she despised girls would incessantly snapped and chewed the
stuff.  But Mr. Baines was trying to be nice.  She popped it in her mouth,
thanked her boss and went back to work.

      As she typed up a memo, Amy couldn't help but enjoy the stuff.  It had a
strange taste though -- a taste she remembered but couldn't place.  A half hour
later she realized when she had first come across the taste.  It had been her
honeymoon, a result of something she had done for Wendell.  It was the first
and only time since she had tasted it till now, because she hadn't liked the
taste that time.  But now she couldn't get enough of it, sucking the gum dry
with every chew.  The gum tasted like sperm!

      As she submitted the memo for Baine's signature, she asked him about the
gum, careful not to mention the taste.

      He smiled.  "I'm glad you like it.  I thought you would.  My business
partners, the gentlemen from South America, sent it to me for possible
marketing here in the States.

      Consider yourself a test subject!  You can't get it here, but I have
plenty of samples. Would you like another piece?"

      She nodded gratefully, taking the wrapper off the stick.  As she did, she
looked at the wrapper.  In big red letters, she noted the gum's name:
"Sexy-licious Chewing Gum." "Cute name," she said dryly.

      Baines shrugged.  "It's foreign, Amy.  Probably a bad translation.  Start
on my next memo, would you?"

      Amy returned to her desk and began pounding on the keys, snapping her gum
without realizing it.  A half-hour later, she felt compelled to ask Mr. Baines
for another piece.  In spite of its salty taste, the stuff was absolutely
addictive!  She was secretly thrilled at the end of the day when Baines
rewarded her for a good day's work by giving her a whole box of the stuff.


                    In Part Four, the last straw for Amy...


                               (NC, M/F, F/F, BD)

      The following story contains adult material.  If below the age of 18, go
outside, get some fresh air and do something healthy (g).

      If you ARE 18, then you should know the following story is about a young
woman who is forced into non-consensual sex, public humiliation, and b&d, in
both m/f and f/f situations.  Both the characters and occurrences in this
fiction are completely fictitious.


                                  The Mortgage
                                  By Marlissa

                                   PART FOUR

      Hadn't he ever heard of feminism? "Be a doll and fetch me some coffee!'
he said, like she was some waitress. And he had said it in front of four other
bank executives too, two of them women! And the women had smirked too, which
hadn't totally surprised Amy. She was learning that the female executives at
the bank treated their own secretaries much worse than the males did.

      Amy had given him a small, angry smile and brought the coffee silently.
She had hoped he would say something later, maybe apologize. Instead he told
her to refill the cup, without even looking up from his papers. She popped a
piece of Sexy-licious in her mouth and began chewing. It calmed her right down
and she obediently filled the cup.

                                ****************

      The crack about her pantsuit just frosted her. It had come at the end of
the day, just as she was ready to leave. They were going over some tasks for
her tomorrow when he looked up and shook his head, with that utterly superior
attitude he was increasingly showing towards her.

      "Goodness, I didn't know secretaries still wore those things!" His
amusing patronizing tone aggravated her to no end!

      "Mr. Baines, many of the women who work here wear pantsuits. Why, Ms.
Jensen --"

      "Is an EXECUTIVE, my dear -- not a secretary. At her level, it may be
appropriate -- even though she has an attitude problem I'm not entirely happy
with. Far too assertive for her own good. But at YOUR level, well, a pantsuit
really isn't befitting a girl of your position." His slate eyes looked down at
her in an over-patient way, as if he was explaining something to a child.

      The next day, Amy gritted her teeth and wore a skirt.

                               ******************

      "So we're not wearing make-up today, Amy?" Mr. Baines scowled at her. She
sighed.

      "Yes, Sir, I am." Amy searched her brain. Of course she had put make-up
on -- not much because she didn't like a lot. But she WAS wearing make-up. It
upset her that Mr. Baines was mad at her. She was feeling a little ditzy and
very vulnerable, probably all the sugar in the gum. Lately she was feeling so
passive, so easily confused. Amy resolved to cut down on her newest bad habit
-- it was doing the strangest things to her.

      "You can hardly tell, young lady! Don't you think it's important for you
to look nice while you're working for me? Or does the job mean that little to
you?" he was demanded angrily.

      She twitched nervously. "Uh, no Sir, I mean, Yes Sir, I --" she groped
for the right words, all the time chewing her Sexylicious gum.

      He cut her off with a wave of a hand. "Just start wearing make-up in the
office from now on. Don't embarrass me in front of the rest of the executives
by coming in here with your face looking like you just got out of bed,
understand me?"

      She nodded, chewing faster. "Yes Sir!" She shook her head rapidly to show
just how well she understood. The next day, Amy's face was painted and made-up
as enticingly as any of the other secretaries -- the other single, young
unmarried secretaries, that is. It was just easier to get along, she told
herself. And Mr. Baines smiled widely at her, proving she had done the right
thing. Still, it bothered her. Just like the tickling in her sex now bothered
her. Was she horny? Amy blushed and shook off the thought at once, popping
another piece of chewing gum in her mouth.

                               ******************

      The final straw. That was it. She was still fuming, still completely
humiliated by it. By no longer surprised.

      She had just finishing watering the plants in his office when he had
returned from a planning meeting. He was pleased with this kind of initiative,
just as he was pleased with the other things he now had Amy doing for him --
picking up his dry cleaning on her lunch hour, sewing the occasional button
that popped of a shirt cuff, trotting down the post office for him, standing in
line at the Registry to renew his plates, and any other mindless chore he could
dump off on her.

      At least it had made things better. She no longer asked questions about
what she was doing, she just did, without comment, whatever she was told. He
was pleased with her new attitude. Watering his plants without being told to
was EXACTLY the kind of initiative he appreciated and he said so. She had
smiled demurely.

      "Thank you Sir. I'm trying to be the kind of secretary you want." THAT
seemed to go over very well, so well in fact that Baines had patted her ass as
she left his office.

      "Good girl, Amy. I KNEW this would work out after all."

      She had frozen, then kept walking out, without saying a word. She didn't
look behind her, keeping her dazed eyes focused on the path in front of her.
The nerve! That he would think he could touch her like that! She could still
feel his palm on her ass, the proprietary way he had patted her, like she was
some bar girl or something!

      As she walked home, Amy steamed. Bob Baines was a pig, an absolute pig.
How could she work for a guy like that? What was wrong with him? It dawned on
her that she longer wanted to be Baine's secretary. She would do something
else, maybe get a job waitressing, something. If only they weren't counting on
that money. And it would take time to get another job. Wendell wasn't having
any luck...

      That was when she saw the construction worker nailing the sign up next
door to her house. Her face went white.

      "NEW HOME OF THE BENTSON TOXIC WASTE TREATMENT CENTER"

      She raced into the house, slamming the door behind her. Wendell was
fixated on a teevee cartoon, his eyes half-opened. Empty beer cans littered the
room.

      "What the hell is going on next door? Did you see --"

      "Look at the mail," he answered flatly, pointed at the opened envelope on
the kitchen table.

      She picked up the envelope with the registered mail receipt glued to it,
pulled out the thick document inside. She began to read, her heart falling with
every paragraph. "As you may know," it began innocently enough, "the recent
establishment of a chemical processing facility on commercially zoned land
abutting yours will serve the whole community of Bentson County in many ways.
The First Metropolitan Bank was pleased to finance this important new project.
Unfortunately," the letter turned somber," this development has adversely
affected your own property value very drastically. A recent independent
appraisal by the bank shows that your property has lost two-thirds of it's
value from six months ago. As a result, and given your own uncertain employment
prospects, the bank has no option but to reconsider its investment in aforesaid
property and mortgage."

      She had worked at the bank long enough to understand that the legal terms
and figures all added up to one thing. The bank was calling in the loan.

      "Unless you are able to demonstrate long-term employment, the bank will
have no option but to request full payment on your mortgage note. Please
respond to this correspondence within twenty-four hours. Thank you for your
attention in this matter!" There was no signature. It was a form letter
generated automatically by the bank's computers the first of every month.

      "Howduya like that?" Wendell was drunk. Amy figured he had been drinking
all afternoon -- ever since the letter had been delivered. "I thought we'd wait
till tomorrow to tell my folks they'll have to live in the street," he said,
eyes rolling in despair as he cracked open a fresh can of beer, "unless I get
some big job in the next twenty-four hours, that is." His eyes were filling
with tears, drunken, pathetic tears. "I could always rob a gas station or
something," he groaned, half-seriously.

                In Part Five, Mr. Baines gives Amy an ultimatum.


                               (nc, m/f, f/f, bd)

      The following story contains adult material.  If below the age of 18, go
outside, get some fresh air and do something healthy (g).

      If you ARE 18, then you should know the following story is about a young
woman who is forced into non-consensual sex, public humiliation, and b&d, in
both m/f and f/f situations.  Both the characters and occurences in this series
are completely fictitious.

                                  The Mortgage
                                  by Marlissa

                                   PART FIVE

      The next morning, she asked Baines to be kept on permanently as his
personal secretary.

      "Would you like to interview for the job now then?" Baines was
unbuttoning her blouse with his eyes, addressing his question to the small,
firm breasts.

      Amy smiled weakly. "Sure," she answered. Her mouth was dry, very dry.

      "Good. Secretaries need to be VERY PRETTY to work for me, Amy. And VERY
SEXY. Could you remove your blouse now?" Baines licked his lips slowly,
savoring his request.

      Amy stood up like a rocket, outraged and trembling. She tried to but
couldn't meet his eyes. Shaking on weak legs, she turned to the door
wordlessly. A mistake, this was a mistake, a mistake --

      "Sit down RIGHT NOW." The order was cold, unarguable. Without waiting for
a response, he dialed the phone. "Yes, the Sheriff please.

      This is Mr. Baines, the Executive Vice President in charge of loans at
the First Metropolitan Bank. I have two foreclosures to discuss -- the Walenski
Junior and Senior residences. Yes, I'll hold for a moment." Baines tapped his
gold pen on the desk rhythmically. As Amy resumed her seat, he quietly placed
the receiver back in its rest.

      "The Sheriff's men will evict you by end of day, the house reverting to
the bank whenever I make the call. That includes your in-laws." Baines paused,
letting this sink in before continuing. "IF, however you behave yourself and if
you are a VERY GOOD little secretary, I'll will keep the late mortgage payment
our little secret." Baines looked at Amy, eyes arched in incredulity, tapping
the pen impatiently. "Shouldn't you thank me for being so kind? And shouldn't
you take off your blouse now?"

      Amy sniffled. "Th-th-thank you, M-m-Mr. B-b-Baines." Trembling, she
unbuttoned her blouse, second after endless second displaying more and more of
her bare body. With her eyes glued to the deep pile carpet of the executive
office, she limply pulled off her blouse, letting it fall to the floor. She
wished she might cover her chest, but she knew this wouldn't be allowed. She
kept her arms at her side, displaying her plain white cotton Maidenform bra,
her pale skin blushing pink in shame.

      "Now the skirt," Mr. Baines instructed.

      Amy choked, her big brown eyes growing heavy with raindrop tears. She
obeyed silently, the tears trickling down her face now, as she unzipped the
simple blue cotton skirt. Foolishly, she thought how she had picked out her
nicest clothes to wear for Mr. Baines and now they were all on the floor of his
office, even as she tossed the skirt on top of the blouse. She stood before him
now in nothing but her flats, her bra and her white cotton panties, her whole
body quivering as he gave her a clinical once-over. He nodded approvingly and
began to speak.

      "Amy, let me explain how things will be from now on:

      First, you will earn thirteen thousand dollars a year as my secretary --
from that salary, the mortgage payment will be made. It won't be enough to
cover the entire mortgage payment, so I will stretch your loan from a thirty to
a fifty year loan -- an unusual but not unknown practice. The paycheck will be
made out directly to the bank and I will give you a small allowance with which
to buy your new work clothes and other items, which," Baines' eyes lit up, "I
will explain in a moment. You will be kept on a virtually permanent probation
status, meaning termination at MY discretion.

      Second, all credit cards will be cut up and all credit lines cut off
immediately. Your credit record will indicate your late payments, and you will
be denied any request for credit. You will be blacklisted and frozen by credit
card companies and financial institutions. You will henceforth use cash for
everything -- that is, the small amount of cash I allow you to use from your
'allowance'", Baines' eyes danced at the thought then continued, "-- as a
little girl, you obviously can't be allowed access to money. You have already
shown yourself, like your husband, as too immature to handle money. So I will
do it for you."

      Amy wanted to scream YOU LET US BUY THE HOUSE!!! YOU SAID WE COULD AFFORD
IT!!! IT IS YOUR FAULT!!! But she merely listened in fascination as Mr. Baines,
her boss, continued to tell her how she would live her life from this point on.

      "Third, you will tell Wendell that you are so very very HAPPY to work for
me and lucky to get the job. You will have Wendell come in personally to THANK
me for my generosity in hiring his inexperienced young wife as his secretary.
He should write a gushing note as well, for your personnel file, just as you
should write thank you notes every so often, telling me how happy you are to be
my secretary.

      Fourth, you will tell Wendell about a WONDERFUL opportunity as a security
guard at a local factory that I have tipped you to. It requires a seven day a
week commitment, working six at night to six in the morning." Mr. Baines
frowned in mock disappointment. "It only pays hourly minimum wage meaning
twelve thousand a year tops. But with jobs so scarce and Wendell with just a
high school degree... Well, you ought to have him come in and thank me for that
too. I have a funny feeling that Wendell will get the job very easily. I'll
point out that you his wife is actually making more money than he is at his new
job. That will remind him what a disappointment he must seem to you as a man.
Too bad, but there you are."

      Amy gritted her teeth. She could see her dear Wendell dejected, his broad
shoulders slumping, his spirit broken. Failure. That's what he would see
himself as.

      "Fifth, obviously children will have to wait for awhile. You're young.

      You'll have plenty of time later on, in my humble opinion. And doesn't my
opinion mean a great deal to you now?" His steely grin said it all.

      His opinion meant EVERYTHING to Amy now. "Anyway you won't really have
the opportunity to make one, will you? So you'll get on the Pill today if you
aren't already on it.

      Sixth, you will dress 'appropriately' from now on. Your underwear is not
acceptable."

      Amy shivered with impotent rage and humiliation.

      "You will purchase silky, lacy lingerie, tight miniskirts, clingy tops
and so forth. You'll surprise me with your imagination, but here are a few tips
for you: I ALWAYS prefer garter belts and stockings to pantyhose -- you should
remember that. High heels from now on -- three inch heels at minimum. I like
thong panties and thigh highs. Panty and bra colors that sluts like include red
and black. Amy, from this point on, consider yourself a slut."

      NO!!! Amy screamed. Then she saw the sheriff's deputies taking everything
away. Her in-laws begging on the street, all because of HER. She swallowed her
shame and listened, glassy eyed, to her new boss's next question.

      "I have taken the time to go through this," he pulled a catalog out from
his top drawer. It glided across the smooth polished surface of the mahogany
desktop. Amy looked at it. It was the latest catalog from Frederick's of
Hollywood. "-- and circled the things that I think are appropriate for you to
wear now. I think you'll find them out of your price range, but try to
substitute closely at Wal-Marts or wherever poor people buy things. Look
through it now, will you?"

      Amy flipped the glossy pages. In the front was clothing. Mr. Baines had
circled sexy models posing seductively in tube tops, spandex miniskirts, hot
pants -- she flipped toward the back. Lingerie. Teddies, babydolls, lace
bikinis, crotchless panties -- all worn by women who looked like their lives
depended on pleasing a man, with big "Fuck me please!" smiles glued on their
faces and sticking their tits and asses out as far as they could. Sluts.

      "What is your bra size, Amy?"

      "Th-thirty-two A."

      He waited, then added "Sir or Mr. Baines is appropriate, Amy. Try it
again."

      "Thirty-two A, Mr. Baines."

      He put his finger to his lip, contemplating this. "Better stick with bras
that give you some support in that area, Amy. With breasts that small, you'll
need a lot of help, won't you?"

      "Yes, Mr. Baines." She wiped a tear away before another took it's place.

      "Yes indeed, Amy. I see you in shelf bras, push-ups, and half bras that
give you a lift. ABSOLUTELY NO PADDING though. You're a flat little thing and
don't think you can escape that fact. What's a flat girl's best friend in the
world, Amy?"

      Amy shook her head. She could feel her little boobs swaying slightly in
her familiar old Maidenform as she did. "I don't know, Mr. Baines."

      "The Wonder Bra, naturally. Get one at once. Or two if you like. Make-up
should be worn at all times and I like what you working class girls call `big
hair' -- it's so suggestive so cheap-looking, don't you think? Painted nails
always, and keep your toenails painted too. Have your ears pierced a couple of
more times at the mall and let's try hoops or chandelier-style earrings on you
too. You will purchase these items with the allowance I'll give you. Since that
will be a small allowance, you will have to shop at the discount stores, I'm
afraid. I love the thought of you buying the sexiest lingerie K-mart has to
offer, along with all the other white trash!" His gruff, pitiless chuckle
echoed in her ears. Amy shivered as he added, "You'll be required to purchase
other items out of your allowance as well at places downtown, nasty places, but
we'll talk about those items in the weeks and months to come."

      "Seventh, you'll be working late. Bankers never sleep. Travel will be
necessary from time to time and I'll need my faithful, efficient little
secretary with me at those times. You should warn Wendell you might not be home
some mornings, even weekends. You should be VERY convincing on this score, Amy.
You will, won't you dear?"

      Amy nodded dumbly, a zombie. She was being told that she wouldn't be
allowed to spend any time with Wendell. She was reserved for the exclusive use
of Mr. Baines from now on. "Travel" meant cheap hotels, one bed, rented by the
hour, sheets extra. "Working late" meant... she felt chills spread throughout
her entire body, electric shocks sizzle through her heart and lungs as she
gasped, choking down tears. It was setting in now what he was talking about. It
was dawning on her that nothing would ever be the same again. She could no
longer restrain the panicky tears, the gut-wrenching sob that burst forth. She
clutched her face, awash in the anticipation of her complete abasement.

      Baines' tone was disgusted. "Eight, and most important for you, Amy, so
stop sniveling and listen up -- you will have a proper ATTITUDE about your new
situation. You will show me GRATITUDE and RESPECT. You will long to please me,
to make sure I am NEVER, EVER displeased with you. My displeasure will result
in your punishment. And if you were ever to speak to my ex-wife, you would
learn just how terrible my punishments can be."

      Amy forced herself to stop crying. A new tone had filled Mr. Baines now,
one that terrified her more than anything she had heard since.

      "That's right Amy. Good girl. No more tears -- just smiles for your boss.
Give me a smile now... show me how much you LIKE being my little assistant."

      Amy hooked up the ends of her mouth into an unconvincing smile.

      "Not that kind of smile, Amy. You KNOW what kind of smile I want to see
on your pretty face." His look said she had a second chance, no more. His
patience was wearing thin with her.

      She closed her eyes and thought of the way she smile at Wendell, then
killed it. No, that wasn't what he wanted, he didn't want love, he wanted...
lust. She curled her lips up, and gave her lower lip a little bite like one of
the models in the lingerie catalog. Amy gave Mr. Baines a slut's smile. And he
nodded approvingly.

      "That's VERY good. And I want you to behave just like your smile hints
at. For me, in front of others especially. There shouldn't be any doubt in
people's minds about what you are and you should act the part every second of
every day. Or," he pointed at the phone again. Sheriff's deputies, bankruptcy,
her in-laws homeless, Wendell broken for good as a man. Baines looked up, his
point having been made by the look in Amy's eyes.

      "So, just so we have it for the record, what are you, Amy?"

      Amy blinked back a tear, smiling the airhead bimbo "DO ME!!!" smile she
had just learned to do so well. "I am a slut, Mr. Baines."

      "Whose slut, Amy?"

      The smile was there for him, but she knew her eyes betrayed her. They
were filled with fear, fear of him and what he might do to her should she not
give the appropriate answer. Without hesitation she replied as happily as she
could.

      "I am YOUR slut, Mr. Baines."

      She couldn't believe what had happened and how quickly it had happened to
her. She had come here to try to figure out how to get an extension on their
mortgage. In three months, she had been reduced to nothing more than a sex
slave secretary. Baines was her boss, but he was more than that and she knew
it. Mister Baines was her new master.

      "That is all. You may get dressed. You'll begin tomorrow. Perhaps you
should go home and tell your husband the good news. Here," he tossed a twenty
dollar bill at her. "Go to MacDonald's to celebrate. And buy a six pack of
beer. Make your husband think you two are the luckiest newlyweds in the world.
Make him happy, Amy. Give him something to remember as he starts his first day
or night of work tomorrow. Be here at eight-thirty, prompt. Have my coffee hot
and ready on my desk -- I like it with one sugar, black."

      Amy waited for a moment, then grabbed her clothes, grateful for the
protective covering of the blouse and skirt. She turned to go.

      "Hold on, missy. There's one more thing -- AND I think you owe me a big
thank you," Baines leered, tapping his gold pen.

      Thank you for turning me into YOUR PERSONAL WHORE?, she wanted to snap
back. But her eyes looked at his, then dropped to the floor. She mumbled.

      "Speak UP!" he barked.

      "Thank you, Mister Baines. Thank you for making me your new secretary."

      He made his last request. It was the one that broke her. All her
self-righteous anger wrapped within itself into a ball, which promptly smashed
into bits against this most degrading command. She nodded obediently,
submissively, like a proper secretary would respond to any ordinary request her
boss might make. Slowly, carefully she slipped off her engagement ring and
placed it before him, then the wedding band.

      Baines slipped the two rings on his keychain with double snaps. "Good
luck charms," he explained callously. "You'll tell Wendell you lost them
cleaning. He'll want to replace them but how can you? You can't even make your
mortgage payment for God's sake. You think I'm taking them because I don't want
people to think you're married, don't you Amy? You're wrong. I WANT everyone to
know you're married. I'll make reference to it. They'll be no confusion about
it. And when people ask you why you don't wear your wedding and engagement
rings, all I want you to do is smile and wink. That will give everyone you work
with all they need to know about Amy Walenski -- now, you may leave."

      As Baines watched his new possession take leave from his office, he
smiled. He had waited five years to take ownership of this girl, this little
nothing his daughter laughed at behind her back. Her small breasts, her tight
backside, her pouty mouth -- he would train her, break her in just the way he
wanted her. Ah, the fun he would have with his new plaything!

      As she trailed out in a daze, stinging in her deepest humiliation, Baines
thought about the pride of ownership -- home and otherwise. When the Walenskis
hadn't made their first mortgage payment on time, he had arranged to buy the
note secretly from the bank. He had approached the bank president, an ancient
golfplaying fool who was rarely in the office. Baines felt responsible about
having recommended the young couple. He would inform them of foreclosure and
buy the mortgage himself, probably allow them to rent. The old man waved an
o.k. and left for the links, leaving Baines with title to the pathetic little
slab two bedroom ranch. They had already lost their little bit of principal.
Amy's and Wendell's paychecks would go for rent, not mortgage payments as they
would think. He would let it go years before revealing the truth. And by that
time, he would no longer need that particular threat in order to have Amy do
his bidding. There would be other, far worse things by then...photographs,
videos, dirty letters she would write him.

      Baines smiled. There was so much to look forward to, to live for. For the
first time since his wife had left him, he felt good -- REALLY good.


In Part Six, Amy obediently assumes her new position as Mr. Baine's office
plaything.


                               (nc, m/f, f/f, bd)

      The following story contains adult material.  If below the age of 18, go
outside, get some fresh air and do something healthy (g).

      If you ARE 18, then you should know the following story is about a young
woman who is forced into non-consensual sex, public humiliation, and b&d, in
both m/f and f/f situations.  Both the characters and occurences in this series
are completely fictitious.

                                  The Mortgage
                                  by Marlissa

                                    PART SIX

      She was there waiting for him when he entered his office at eight thirty
seven. The coffee, still steaming, was waiting for him, welcoming him to a new
day at the bank. Beside his desk, his new secretary waited patiently, holding a
small note pad and pencil, ready for any task he gave her.

      She had taken instruction well -- a good sign so early on. The pink tank
top ended midriff, displaying her flat pale tummy. He made a mental note to
have her go to a tanning salon on a regular basis -- he liked a healthy golden
glow. Underneath her small pert breasts stretched the material a bit more than
yesterday. The bandaid sized black spandex miniskirt hugged her slim hips
jealously though inadequate to the job of hiding her charms. Bending over for
Amy would be quite a dilemma in that skirt. He guessed the patterned black
stockings were thigh-highs, the rose pattern creeping naughtily up between her
coltish legs, promising, promising to give up all her secrets underneath... He
nodded at the now mandatory black high heels, a cheap open toed black patent
leather pair that revealed her newly painted red toenails.

      The rest of Amy was transformed too. The prim mousy young housewife from
the previous day was gone. The straight brown hair that had hung midway down
her back was now curled, teased wildly and heavily sprayed. Wild tresses framed
the face, spilling and shaking enticingly with every spare motion. The
eyeshadow was blue, the "Ivory fresh" look replaced by lots of blush,
foundation and penciling. It would take her an hour and a half every morning
just to get ready for work, he thought. The lips were brightly painted with a
fire engine red lipstick, which matched the nail polish she now wore. Cheap
plastic bangles clattered gently now whenever she moved her wrist. The gold
hoops were enhanced by the plastic red heart-shaped post studs she now wore.
Baines winced, uncharacteristically, at the thought of a triple piercing. The
coup de grace were the items she didn't wear today -- her engagement ring and
wedding band. Amy looked like she might have just come from a meatmarket
pick-up bar or some sleazy discotheque, on a man prowl.

      "Good morning, Amy. You look very pretty today." He made pretty sound
like a dirty word.

      "Good morning Mr. Baines! Thank you VERY much Mr. Baines," she gushed.
The smile was pure 100% bedtime for bimbo.

      He took his seat, while she remained standing, waiting. "Did you talk
with Wendell? I heard he's starting his new job tonight."

      She bobbed her head. "Yes, Sir. He wanted to make an appointment with you
today to thank you for him... and me."

      "Keep him waiting. Maybe I can spare a minute after lunch. Say, he didn't
have much luck with the Unemployment office, did he?" Baines chided her.

      The synthetic lusciousness of Amy's smile dimmed for a millisecond.
"Sir?"

      "I know he kept trying to get another job and keep his unemployment
coming in. But the law states that when you are offered a job, you have to take
it -- otherwise you forfeit your unemployment. I let the state office know
that, because I wouldn't want Wendell to miss out on such a good opportunity."

      Amy's eyes were well-deep now. At the bottom of the well was animal fear
of him, fear that he had known about Wendell's stubbornness to taking the
menial job Baines had set up for him. If he could know about that, then he
would know...

      "Did you two make love last night like I told you too? Like two little
fuck bunnies I bet." Baines sneered.

      Amy nodded brightly. "Yes, Sir, we did."

      The memory of their lovemaking was painful. Why was she crying, Wendell
asked. We're so lucky -- we're going to keep our home! her husband had tried to
cheer her. She had said she was just so, very, very happy. That was why she was
crying. Thank God Wendell had left early for his human resources paperwork
meeting at the factory and wasn't there when Mr. Baines had called. But of
course, Mr. Baines KNEW Wendell would be gone by then.

      Baines took it in amused stride. "That's good. From now on, I won't allow
it very often. After I called you this morning, did you douche?"

      "Oh yes, Mr. Baines! At once, just like you told me to, Sir!"

      "Good girl. And you did like I told you, Amy?"

      It was hard to keep her smile plastered on her face. It was slipping now,
the humiliation burning and building. "Y-yes, Mr. Baines, I did. J-just like
you told me Sir." Her face was blushing hotter than her blush now.

      Baines sipped his coffee. "Good. Show me, then Amy." He leaned back in
his chair to enjoy the show.

      Quaking, she set the notepad down and put her hands on the midriff trim
of the tight pink top. Jerkily she pulled it up and over her head. Looking up,
she assumed the lingerie model smile and thrust her chest out, hesitating only
a second. Her breasts were lovingly cupped by a milky white brassiere, nuzzled
by the confection of styled lace and unseen wiring which gave her small bosom a
curvy boost. Between the bra cups was a darling bright red rosette, the thin
shoulder straps similar decorated where they met the top of the cups. It was a
romantic garment, not meant for everyday occasions.

      Baines nodded wordlessly.

      Amy unzipped the tight miniskirt, feeling her hips pop out of the
confines of the strict, shaping material. Baines had been right -- the silky
black stockings rode high up her thighs, ending incongruously below a white
thong panty. The panty matched the bra, all virginal white and almost innocent
in it's schoolgirlishness. The small white silk panel was decorated with the
delicate bright red rosette on each hip and between the legs, where it was held
by a single snap to the thong between her legs.

      "And you shaved I take it?"

      Amy's head bobbed. "Yes, Mr. Baines. I'll keep it shaved from now on,
like you said to, Sir." How would she explain to Wendell why she kept her pussy
shaved bare? She would have to ask Mr. Baines for ideas -- she was running out
of them and she was sure he had an answer for her to use.

      Baines stood up, moving to the other side of the desk. "And this what you
wore, Amy?"

      She thought of the hotel room that night at Niagara Falls. The
excitement, the thrill of dressing this way for her man, her husband on their
wedding night. Of the way his eyes had shone with love for her. Of the way she
had surrendered to her husbands' love so easily, so gratefully.

      "Yes, Mr. Baines. This was what I wore on my honeymoon for Wendell." Keep
the smile, don't cry, be brave...

      Baines stroked the bra strap, then fingered the rosette between the two
cups. It was the most intimate contact with Amy yet and she involuntarily
shrunk from it, then catching herself, reversed herself and pressed the rosette
back into Baine's hand.

      "Adorable. And now you must wear it for the new man in your life, Amy --
me. And you'll wear your honeymoon dainties for our first time together too.
But after today, you will throw them out. They aren't appropriate for you
anymore Amy. White is for good little wifeys and we both know you aren't that
anymore. Black and red, Amy -- slut colors from now on."

      Amy didn't answer. The plastic smile, the frozen eyes downcast as she
watched Mr. Baines unzip his pants.

      "Let's get to work then, shall we? Bend over the desk, Amy."

      Outside the office, secretaries were busily preparing banking documents,
the clicking-clacking of computer printers and typewriters filling the
cavernous bank with the sounds of mortgages being prepared, deeds being
registered, statements being generated for scores of homeowners. Each and every
day thousands of mortgages are processed, each representing struggle,
persistence and a whole change of life. Owning property -- it was The American
Dream, a dream which had just come true for one man, Robert Parker Baines.

             In Part Seven, a death and Amy's shameful memories...


                               (nc, m/f, f/f, bd)

      The following story contains adult material.  If below the age of 18, go
outside, get some fresh air and do something healthy (g).

      If you ARE 18, then you should know the following story is about a young
woman who is forced into non-consensual sex, public humiliation, and b&d, in
both m/f and f/f situations.  Both the characters and occurences in this series
are completely fictitious.

                                  The Mortgage
                                  by Marlissa

                                   PART SEVEN

      "Blessed are the dead that the rain falls on," droned the minister. The
mourners nodded their heads in dutiful silence, huddling under black umbrellas
as the incessant drizzle misted downward from the gray-black sky. It was a
large crowd -- bank employees, business partners, golf mates, neighbors, and
those who had known him in all his various guises as a pillar of the community.
Robert Parker Baines had been known and admired by so many in Bentson County.
The sudden heart attack that had stricken him while in the midst of a bank
meeting had taken them all by surprise.

      Kathryn stood behind the minister, somber and thoughtful as he read
benediction over her father's funeral. The recent divorcee appeared calm and in
control, under the circumstances. It was her father's steely eyes that surveyed
the crowd, taking an account of all who had come to pay respects.

      Briefly those eyes rested, emotionlessly, on Amy. She had purposely
chosen an unobtrusive spot on the edge of the group, somewhat embarrassed about
her attire. It would draw attention if she didn't attend the funeral of her
boss Mr. Baines and there had been no time to shop for a suitable outfit. She
had gritted her teeth and slipped into the closest thing she had to proper
mourning garb -- a black spandex miniskirt, a form-fitting sleeveless black
turtle neck, black stockings and her four inch black spike heels. The looks of
the other mourners had warned her to seek a place in the back, stares that
announced she was a stupid little slut who didn't know any better that to dress
that way for a funeral.

      Kathryn had discovered her effortlessly, as if she knew Amy would be
there. Their eyes locked for a moment in the space of the gray, wet air, then
returned to the minister.

      "Robert Baines will always be remembered as a paragon, an example for
others to follow. Those of you who knew him closely know that just in the last
few years he displayed a love for life that was inspiring..."

      Memories of Robert Parker Baines flooded Amy Walenski. She tensed a a
remembrance gripped her in a vise, palms flattening against her thighs. Two
years ago...

      The 'breaking in' period. Dressing and acting to please her new boss.
Learning to endure the humiliating comments of the other female employees, the
subtle, then not so subtle, leers from the male workers. Learning to giggle at
the filthiest jokes males would tell, all while Baines watched. Ordered to ask
advice of the male co-workers in the most intimate, teasing way possible just
HOW could she make her hubby happy, anyway, and what did men like most in bed?
Instructed to constantly pore over lingerie catalogs like they were riveting
novels, agonizing over each potential purchase in public -- "The pink lace
teddy or the red bustiere... what do YOU think, Ted?" No friends at the bank --
who would want a slut for a friend? Every spare minute away from Baines spent
shopping for sexy clothes, or shaping her body with aerobics or tanning herself
at the Gold-a-Rama, all to make herself look more appetizing for HIM. And the
used condoms left, purposely, in the bedroom for Wendell to find the next
morning when he trudged home from work. The tired, disgusted looks from an
increasing drunken Wendell in the rare moments they were together...

      "-- a man whose sense of propriety and Christian piety was well known to
those lucky enough to spend any time with him--" Amy wanted to laugh out loud.
Her eyes lost focus as the scenes played out in the cinema of her mind.
Twenty-one months ago...

      The 'rules' period. Baines laying down very explicit dictates that Amy
must obey to the letter. Doing the "four to eight," that wa wa way Amy was
taught to think of it. It referred to the way she would walk from now on.
"Imagine you are standing on the face of a clock, Amy," his polished voice
instructed, "now make sure with every step, you swing your hips first to the
four o'clock, then with the next step to the eight o'clock." The result -- an
exaggerated pivot that was designed to communicate an attention- inviting
sultry saunter.

      Other posture rules. Whenever standing, feet no closer than two feet
apart to give her an overly "available" look, accentuated by her ever- present
hip-hugging miniskirts. Lips to be kept wet and slightly open at all times when
not speaking, giving her an arousing if somewhat stupid facial expression. When
in the presence of any man or men, eyelashes to bat three times a minute while
looking directly at the male speaker.

      Amy was only permitted two expressions now -- an ecstatic, flirty smile
or a pouty frown, depending on the situation. One palm to be kept on her hip at
all times when standing or walking, the other to clutch a pencil and notepad,
unless performing a special errand for her superior. Chest to be thrust out at
ALL TIMES like a military school cadet.

      Clothing rules. All new clothing to be modeled in the privacy of Mr.
Baines' office to ensure the building of an appropriate wardrobe. All shopping
restricted to either junior miss clothing or "club" clothes, giving her two
alternating 'looks': the first that of a shyly suggestive high schooler in her
clingy angora sweaters, poodle skirts, lacy ankle stockings and pink heels; the
second that of a night club-hopping working girl on a nighttime adventure, in
her leather miniskirts, see- through black lace tops, seamed black stockings
and stiletto black heels. The visible pantyline rule -- no miniskirt, shorts or
hot pants purchased unless the pantyline was clearly visible at a reasonable
distance. All of which necessitated many clothing returns and caused the
shopgirls at K-Mart to groan whenever the "clothes horse" secretary trotted
into the store.

      Amy learning about the importance of taking her education in slutdom very
seriously. Because whenever any of Mr. Baines' many rules were broken...

      "He was a good man, full of caring and patience --" Shame, HER shame,
snapped up hard against her dwindling self-control. Her brown eyes reddened,
damming back tears. A year and a half ago...

      Amy kneeling under Baines' desk, wearing a black g-string and high heels,
her wrists securely handcuffed behind her back. Her heavily lipsticked mouth
jammed against his semi-erect cock, her lips and tongue trying to coax him
toward relief for the third time that afternoon. The frequent sounds of phone
conversations and the tap of the keyboard as Baines tended to his executive
responsibilities, even as she labored to serve his desires. Pain spiking
through her nipples as he pinched them cruelly, twisting them upward, signaling
his displeasure with her efforts under his desk. But the worst part, the awful
reality that she was now wet between her legs, hoping she would be allowed to
masturbat before the end of the day as a reward for servicing her boss with
satisfactory sluttishness...

      "-- with a respect for all people, an abiding trust in the American dream
of continuous improvement based on hard work--" She should be smiling now that
it was all over, but as the other mourners eyed her with disdain, all she could
think of was how he had made her look to them, how fifteen months ago he had...

      Mr. Baines training her in new "office etiquette," Amy being taught the
proper way to conduct herself in her position as Mr. Baine's personal
secretary. Expected to keep her nails PERFECT, her hair PERFECT, her make-up
PERFECT at all times, this ensured by the rule that when not doing carrying out
a chore, Amy must file her nails, primp with her hair and re-apply lipstick and
make-up at her desk, doing each at least three times an hour. Instructed to
reply to any questions regarding business with the same line: "I don't get it"
or "I don't understand," thus cementing the impression that if you were dealing
with Amy, you were dealing with an airhead. Baine's command that she ask at
least three different men at the bank if they liked her outfits and the way she
dressed -- daily. The men sneering, talking down to her because of it. The
embarrassing things Mr. Baines made her say and do, as if she were doing them
out of free will. Like when there was a general meeting of all the employees --
that had been especially humiliating. When the head of human resources had
asked if anyone had any questions, Amy had raised her hand and in front of the
entire bank had asked when condom machines might be installed in the ladies
room. Mr. Baines had feed her the line and laughed out loud in disgust as soon
as she had asked it, her cheeks burning in shame. The way he had told her to
dress for the annual bank Halloween party -- as a Playboy Bunny. The way the
women kept their boyfriends and husbands as far away from her as they could and
the way she had been fondled and groped through the whole evening by virtually
all the bank's male employees... Mr. Baines watching impassively as she was
pinched and patted on her bunny tail, as his dazed and confused secretary
smiled in dumb shame.

      "...a wise executive whose business career was long and distinguished, a
man respected by those he dealt with..." Amy's brown eyes trickling two wet
beads. A year ago...

      Trembling, Amy asking the clerk in the Adult Novelties Shop the name and
price of each and every dildo and vibrator for sale. Trying to hold back tears
as she obediently wrote down the information on a pad to report back to Mr.
Baines, while the scruffy clerk looked her over and slowly, very slowly, gave
her the information so important to her. Mr. Baines angry, sending her back to
the store the next day. How could he make a decision without knowing what
colors they were available in? Her arousal almost constant now, a lusty flush
on her face from morning to night for all to see...

      "...a man who believed in helping people achieve their greatest hopes and
desires..." Amy winced, still seeing herself eight months ago...

      Amy sitting across from Ms. Jensen in the bank cafeteria, the woman
executive Amy had invited to have lunch with her. Despite her increasingly
slutty appearance and bimbo reputation, the up-and- coming Ms. Jensen had
readily agreed, pleased to advise another woman how to succeed in the banking
world. Amy had always admired Ms. Jensen -- her success (a vice president like
Mr. Baines at only twenty-eight!), her assertiveness, her openly avowed
feminism and confident attitude. And it was those qualities that had made this
lunch meeting so important to Mr. Baines. Because Ms. Jensen was a rival, one
that needed to be reminded of a woman's "proper place".

      Amy sitting across from the female executive, the rest of the bank
employees filling up the small cafeteria. Smiling lamely at the woman, watching
Mr. Baines, beseeching him from across the room with her eyes. DON'T MAKE ME DO
THIS! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE... but the cold slate eyes ignoring the silent,
screaming plea. Ms. Jensen looking worried...

      "Are you all right Amy? You look flushed." Ms. Jensen's kind, worried
words, the concerned look...

      Mr. Baines adjusting the small remote control in his hand, the thrumming
of the vibrator increasing between Amy's legs...

      "Do you need some water or something?" The sharp young vice president
more suspicious now -- was there more to this casual meeting than met the eye?
Over her shoulder, her boss turning the remote up faster now...

      Amy's lips parted, the sigh of bliss betraying her building orgasm. The
throbbing vibrator within faster and faster, Baines' laughter as she began to
moan uncontrollably.

      The woman executive backing away in disgust. "Amy, I'm, uh, flattered,
but I --"

      Amy bucking now, biting her slips and moaning like a slut in heat, all
the time keeping her eyes locked on the other woman. The snickers from the
other employees and the horror on Ms. Jensen's face as it dawned on her that
they might think, the rest of the bank might assume she and Amy were, but no --

      Mr. Baines racketing up the vibrator to full and Amy feeling the hot,
shaming desires wetten her panties and now skirt, as the rest of the employees
watched the whorish performance in mingled fascination and disdain. Ms. Jensen
leaving the bank shortly thereafter amid rumors that she was a lesbian...

      "...a well-known and extremely generous supporter of the arts in his
community..." Her arms clutched her chest, holding the brewing storm within. It
was over, she had to keep remembering that, it was all over. But only six
months ago...

      The video camera whirring as Amy cupped her small breasts through the red
lace push-up bra, with a dirty smile for the camera. The yellow neon light of
the cheap hotel blinking through the window. Baines muting the audio, then
instructing her specifically what to do next... or else. The secretary kneeling
on the gray, unwashed sheets of the hotel bed, her hands dropping to seek out
the object he wants her to play with. Spreading her knees, a puckered kiss for
the lens as she slipped off the red lace thong panty and inserts the impossibly
long black rubber dildo into her tight, smooth bare sex. Baines clicking the
audio back on, Amy beginning to moan, her performance gaining more tempo as she
gyrates her hips with the huge prong driven deep between her legs. As she
played for the camera, Mr. Baines offering the revelation that her cherished
Sexylicious gum was actually a combination low-grade narcotic AND
aphrodisiac...

      "A humane man, one who cared so much for others and so little for himself
--" Amy was trembling as her face contorted in pain, the mascara running a
black river down her face as she thought back just two months ago...

      Amy kneeling on the carpet, naked except for a black lace corset with
garters and her stiletto heels -- and a dog collar attached to a leash held
tightly by her lord and master, Mr. Baines. He was giving her more orgasm
training.

      "Frig, bitch, frig!"

      Amy's fingers darted to her smooth, tight pussy, one inserting itself a a
others danced lewdly around the pink, quivering lips. She was wet immediately
and he gave her the reward of a pat on the head.

      "Good girl, good little bitch! Now STOP!"

      The finger popped out.

      "And LICK!"

      The finger found it's way into her mouth and she sucked it dry of her
juice. It was a familiar taste by now. She knew it as well as she knew the
taste of Mr. Baine's sperm.

      "And HEEL!"

      She dropped to her fours, spreading her legs and sticking her bare ass
high in the air for her master. Her master mounted her from behind, penetrating
Amy in the orifice least pleasurable to her, but as he did, Amy moaned and
bucked. In the mirror, Baines could see Amy's dirty girl leer, her panting
mouth, her hungry lips and tongue, the way the nipples on her small, pert
breasts were as hard as angry red diamonds. He could feel her young body give
way to his assault, accepting the large demanding rod into her tight anal
channel. He rammed home hard and she cried, in pain and simulated joy, Amy's
knees shaking now. He could feel it building within him, a roaring river
crashing against her. He exploded within her, filling her insides with his
creamy geyser.

      "And CUM!"

Amy moaned louder, louder, louder, then arched her back in angelic release.
Baines smiled and pulled out roughly, leaving the secretary panting on the
floor, her ass filled with his jism. It was all counterfeit, all make-believe
-- but she MUST make him believe. When he came, she must cum. He tugged on the
leash and Amy looked up in fear.

      Had she been convincing? The whip marks on her ass were still red from
having failed the last time.

      He yanked the leash up, patting her head and she rose gratefully to her
knees. She had been a good little bitch for Mr. Baines, she thought in relief.
Because she had cummed on command for him. Mr. Baines wouldn't beat her this
time! She had finally done it right! Later that night, she would rethink every
motion, every moan, making sure she performed her orgasm the same way next time
he used her. But for now, she must force her attention on the next task at
hand. She waited patiently for the next command, which inevitably followed.

      "And CLEAN!"

      With tears of relief flowing from her eyes, she gingerly took hold of the
soiled cock and began to make love to it with her mouth, her slut secretary
mouth...

      "And above all, Robert Baines was a kind man, a gentleman without an evil
thought in his entire being, who left his mark on everyone he touched..."
Self-disgust gripped Amy as she choked hoarsely on salty tears. Just two weeks
ago...

      Sweat beading on Amy's forehead as the expert worked below, her brain
spinning with desperate curiosity and dread. The nerves in the delicate flesh
twitching, tickling with each tease of the deftly wielded metal tip as it
danced over her skin. Baines cupping her chin, her weak, slutty smile back at
him begging for approval. "This is the way it must be." Her submissive,
accepting nod. The body painter finishing, giving Baines a nod. "Look." Amy
looking down between her legs, the small space above her pink lips eternally
adorned with a tattoo of a throbbing heart. It's center filled with one word:
"Bimbo." Baines comforting her: "Don't worry, pretty girl. You'll STILL be able
to wear your thong bikini for me..."


In Part Eight, Amy begins a new life and then is reunited with an old friend...


                               (nc, m/f, f/f, bd)

      The following story contains adult material.  If below the age of 18, go
outside, get some fresh air and do something healthy (g).

      If you ARE 18, then you should know the following story is about a young
woman who is forced into non-consensual sex, public humiliation, and b&d, in
both m/f and f/f situations.  Both the characters and occurences in this series
are completely fictitious.

                                  The Mortgage
                                  by Marlissa

                                   PART EIGHT

      Someone whispered "his secretary" and a few sympathetic, though
patronizing, gazes swept in her direction. Amy felt the thick makeup smudge and
she frantically tried to fix her face as the minister concluded his remarks.
Gradually the crowd melted away, each mourner offering condolences to the
daughter. Kathryn gratefully accepted their soft, supportive words. As the last
of the black umbrellas deserted the burial ground, Amy trotted to catch up and
blend in with the departing crowd. Kathyrn caught her before she was able to
escape.

      Kathryn looked more beautiful, more poised than she ever had. Even in her
expensive, severe designer black dress and hat, she was a stunning young woman.

      "Amy? Amy Walenski?" Her rich, cultured voice reached out for her.

      "Uh, hi, uh, Mrs. --"

      Kathryn chuckled. "Ms. Baines again, actually. I've been sticking with
the maiden name, ever since I got divorced. But let's go with good ole Kathryn
for now, shall we? Like in the good old days at Bentson High, o.k.?"

      Amy nodded. She couldn't, wouldn't tell her what a monster her father had
been. It was over. Amy would let it lie. "Fine, Kathryn then. I'm, uh, sor --,"
She stopped, then resumed. "You have my sympathy for your father."

      Kathryn nodded. "Thank you. But it must be a difficult time for you as
well. I know Daddy enjoyed having you work for him a great deal."

      Amy nodded listlessly. "I should go --"

      Kathryn touched her bare arm. "Wait. Could you come to the house, after
the reception that is? Daddy left you a legacy, something that came up in the
reading of the will this morning." She looked in the distance wistfully. "In
his declining years, he wanted to pass on what he could to those who he cared
for. I think there was, frankly, some guilt there. Won't you come -- say about
seven?"

      Amy smiled and nodded. Could it be? She nodded. "O.k. I'll be there."

      Kathryn beamed, the first time Amy had seen her smile that day. "Look!
The sun is coming out! How nice. I'll see you at seven, then."

                             **********************

      The first place Amy went after leaving the funeral was a dress shop. Her
purse held the first paycheck from the First Metropolitan Bank that she had
ever been permitted to cash entirely. She was amazed at the amount. Till now
Baines had cashed her check for her, limiting her to no more than twenty
dollars a paycheck to keep for herself, the rest going to pay off the mortgage.
But with Baines no longer able to control her, she had received her last
paycheck directly. It wasn't a lot of money but it may as well have been a
fortune. She knew the first thing she would purchase -- a new wardrobe.

      No more K-Mart slut panties, she thought as she bought a comfortable pair
of cotton panties. No more Wonder Bras, she thought as she pulled a Maidenform
off the rack. The spandex mini was replaced with a pair of casual slacks, the
clingy top with a simple pullover. All were neutral colors -- she would never
wear bright reds or midnight blacks again! Spike heels were thrown away in
favor of simple blue navy flats. As she walked out of the store, she sighed, a
natural, not a slut, smile on her face for the first time in two years.

      Amy considered her situation with rising confidence. SHE would manage her
salary. Human Resources had already said she might stay on, maybe even as a
trainee teller! SHE would cover the mortgage, maybe put the house she now hated
up for sale. She didn't think Wendell would argue with that, if they could get
a buyer. And even if they couldn't, to hell with it. They would get a lawyer or
work something out. Without Baines acting as puppetmaster to the married
couple, they would be fine, if she could just win Wendell back.

      She would bring Wendell back. He was so far away from her now, but she
would make that change. The look in his eyes when he saw her dressed like a
slut said he had given up, but that could be changed. The condoms he had found,
she could come up with an explanation now, that Baines was gone. Maybe not tell
Wendell EVERYTHING that had happened, no that would only make him feel more
worthless than the last two years already had, but she could tell him some
things, maybe the less awful parts. Then he would understand. And maybe he
would stop drinking so much. They could make love again -- it had been so long,
Mr. Baines didn't permit it, hadn't permitted it, Amy corrected herself, for
over a year.

      And, yes, maybe he would love her again, his Amy, his Ivory Girl!

      She returned home disappointed not to find Wendell home. A quick call to
the factory switchboard told her he had been called in to work an extended
shift -- a man was sick and he would be needed, with a break in between, to
work two shifts. Amy eagerly started to clean the little ranch house, picking
up all Wendell's empties and the dishes that were heaped high in the sink.
There never seemed any time or any point before now to keeping a nice home, but
the rushing feeling of freedom energized Amy. She scoured the place from stem
to stern, whistling happily as she saw the future open up before she and
Wendell.

      At seven 'o clock, dressed in her new street clothes, she arrived at the
Baines residence. Now Kathryn won't think I'm such a tramp, she thought
proudly.

      Kathryn greeted her politely, even jittery, as if making up her mind
about how to handle the encounter. As her slate eyes took in the sight of Amy's
new outfit, she smiled as if she had reached resolution to her decision.

      "Come in, Amy."

      Amy nodded, trying not to be too cheery in the presence of a woman who
had just lost her father. She followed her into a den that served as Baines'
home office. Kathryn seated herself behind the desk, inviting Amy to take the
chair opposite.

      "So, where to begin? How have you been?" The voice was interested, the
slate eyes eerily reminiscent of the father's -- sparkling with hard-edged
brilliance.

      Amy smiled. "Just fine. You know, Wendell and I are married."

      Kathryn tossed her short straight blonde hair to one side. "Yes, I had
heard that. How's Wendell doing? Does he like his job as a, what is his career
in, uh, dishwashing?"

      Amy's smile fell. "He's a security guard. Why did you want me to come
here, Kathryn?"

      The slate eyes burned.  "Let's make it 'Ms. Baines, shall we?"

      Amy reacted at once, the stab of fear making her brown eyes blink.
"O.k.," she swallowed hard, "let's just get it over with, Miz Baines. I have a
husband to go home to."

      Her former classmate nodded. "Fine. As you know, my father and I were
very close. My mother never understood that, which was why Daddy had to do what
he did. I can't blame him for having her set up for drug possession charges --
a whole kilo of coke! Sometimes I think he overdid that part, but it did get
her major prison time. That way he and I could be together all the more. With
her put away for life, well..." She lingering on the thought, then returned.
"Anyway we were close -- I think you know what I'm alluding to. But I don't
want to overestimate your intelligence, so I'll spell it out so they'll be no
mistaking: my father and I were lovers."

      Amy gasped. There wasn't any depth to which Bob Baines hadn't sunk!

      "And so, he was terribly upset when I was smitten with big, dumb Wendell.
BUT he accepted. After all, he wanted me to get on with my life. But I was
stupid. I fell for a fool that would choose a simpy little bitch like you over
me."

      Amy flushed. The daughter was as evil as the father had been. "Gone on
--"

      "Ms. Baines," Kathryn insisted.

      "Ms. Baines," Amy added impatiently.

      "Daddy was furious. He couldn't understand it either. So he had Wendell
targeted for a hit and run," she continued, nonchalantly. "That moron would PAY
for crossing me." Kathryn's slate eyes flashed. in amusement at the remark she
had just made.

      Amy's face paled into an ashen gray.

      "Daddy sent me away to school. It helped -- things got better. But with
Mother locked up, Daddy didn't have a playmate. That was when I thought of you
Amy. And what a wonderful little slut you could be trained to be. Daddy
remembered you from our slumber parties and liked the idea. I gave him ALL
KINDS OF IDEAS, ways he could break you, mold you into the perfect little
cock-hungry office slut you were born to be. A BIMBO. I couldn't stand the
thought of you being a good little housewifey for big stupid Wendell... so I
helped Daddy turn you into his private whore." Kathryn Baines held a keychain
with Amy's engagement ring and wedding band. It wasn't Bob Baine's chain -- it
was hers.

      "Fuck you," Amy said firmly. She stood up to go. Behind her, there was a
click of a remote and the sound of a moan. She turned around.

      Kathyrn was watching a VHS tape on the television on the credenza. Amy
watched herself on the screen, clad only in spike heels and a dog collar that
was leashed to the leg of a chair. She was on her back pouting at a figure
off-screen.

      "Please fuck me Mister! Please!" she begged in a little-girl voice. If
you looked carefully, you could see the hesitation in her eyes. But it wasn't
likely that a viewer would catch that nuance -- the main action was too
distracting. Following a muted order, she spread her legs wide and began to
masturbate for her unseen lover's amusement. With practiced heat, she arched
her back and came for her man, three fingers buried deep in the slick, shaven
pussy. Resuming her prone position, she brought the fingers to her lips, and
with feline grace, began licking each digit. Throughout, her fearful eyes were
glued to the unknown ringmaster. After a few moments, she smiled, a wide "Fuck
me hard" smile and rolled onto her fours. "Hey Mister? I love it doggie style
'cause I'm such a little bitch in heat!" she purred. The camera faded to black.

      Amy looked at Kathryn's steely eyes, then dropped her own. For another
woman to see this degradation...

      "No, Amy -- to answer your earlier comment, fuck YOU. I know Daddy did,
and often." Kathryn's laughter trilled lightly through the large empty house.
"Anyway, you should be a respectful girl to your new landlady."

      "WHAT!?!"

      Kathryn clicked open a safe and pulled out a sheaf of papers. "Daddy
bought your mortgage when you foreclosed. He owned the note from the bank. You
stupid bitch, you've been paying him RENT for the last two years. You lost all
your principal YEARS ago. The only reason your in-laws weren't thrown out was
because Daddy didn't need to, seeing as how you were being such a good little
slut for him. But even though he could have and didn't doesn mean I can't. You
see, I own the paper on the house now."

      All for nothing. It had all been for nothing -- the humiliation, the
pain, the torture. She had endured it all for... nothing. The secretary felt
the familiar feeling of powerlessness over her life come settling back in
around her. Freedom. It was unfair, she had felt it, tasted it, --

        In Part Nine, Amy learns her fate at the stern hands of Kathryn


                               (nc, m/f, f/f, bd)

      The following story contains adult material.  If below the age of 18, go
outside, get some fresh air and do something healthy (g).

      If you ARE 18, then you should know the following story is about a young
woman who is forced into non-consensual sex, public humiliation, and b&d, in
both m/f and f/f situations.  Both the characters and occurences in this series
are completely fictitious.

                                  The Mortgage
                                  by Marlissa

                                   PART NINE

      "And so to teach that cretin Wendell a lesson, I'm hereby evicting your
poor old in-laws as of five o'clock today." Kathryn's cover girl smile was a
twisted, feral thing, a smile that tasted blood.

      Amy shook her head. "You can't! Please! they're old! They don't have any
money! They --"

      Kathryn waved a manicured hand impatiently. "They're gone already. Off to
section eight housing in the city. Welfare will cover some of their needs, but
as for the rest, who cares? Not I. Wendell must learn who his superiors are,
and never, ever to treat them with disrespect again, don't you think?
Especially his new boss."

      "WHAT!?!" Amy's mind was rolling on a rough sea of unreality now, reeling
with each new revelation.

      The manicured nail ran itself through curtly trimmed blond bangs. "Daddy
owned the little factory Wendell works at. And so I own it now. I'm Wendell's
boss."

      Amy looked at the wedding band, HER wedding band, on the desk. Her eyes
were brimming with tears. She had sacrificed almost everything -- her dignity,
her pride, her self-respect. She would do this for Wendell. With sad
concentration, she played her last card.

      "If you let my in-laws keep their home and let Wendell keep his job, I'll
divorce him. He's yours. I'll disappear. It's what you've always wanted. And
you'll have it -- all."

      Kathryn clapped theatrically. "Bravo! The heroine bravely gives her all!
True love triumphs! Just one question," she added mockingly. "What makes you
think I want him? He's fat, drunk and stupid. If I wanted a husband, I'd have
kept the one I had, my dear. He was much prettier than Wendell ever was. Too
independent, but certainly prettier. Alas, I had to give him up. But just for
your peace of mind, he'll be allowed to keep his job, though only with a
demotion -- to janitor."

      Amy's pulse raced. There was more, there was more coming. She had to be
brave.

      "As for your in-laws -- too late. They'll disappear into nothingness with
time. I've already forgotten about the whole thing. But your other suggestion
was intriguing. Divorce? I'm amused. Yes, you'll divorce Wendell. Men don't
marry whores like you -- they fuck them."

      Amy stood up. "I'm not listening anymore. I'm not divorcing Wendell. I'm
going to get my in-laws right now. "

      Kathryn shook her head with mock regret. "No, bitch, you WILL listen. You
WILL forget about your in-laws. And you WILL divorce Wendell -- the reason will
be how he is unable to satisfy you sexually. You will be graphic about just how
MUCH sex you require to be satisfied. Wendell won't fight hard -- I doubt he
has money for a lawyer! And he'll have to bring up those nasty used condoms he
found, won't he? It should be an interesting trial, don't you think? Who do you
think will win -- him because his wife is such a whore, or you because your
husband is such an effeminate wimp?" She cackled in delight at the scene.

      "You can't make me do ANYTHING!" Amy screeched. "Not anymore! Never
again! I'm free -- free -- FREE!" Amy babbled. She was hysterical now, unable
to control herself.

      "Fraid not, Amy. Take a look." Kathyrn coolly pushed a stack of video
tapes, a photo album and a stack of legal papers toward her.

      Amy looked at the photo album. The cover read "Amy's Scrapbook." She knew
what was inside, but forced herself to confirm her worst fears. There were
scores of candid shots, all of Amy -- on her back, playing with one of her
'toys,' stripping for the photographer. There were letters she had written --
all to an anonymous "Big Cock" from "Your Loving Fuckhole, Amy Walenski." There
were details of things the writer fantasized about doing, awful things, all
sealed with big wet kissmarks and scented with Amy's perfume.

      She calmed herself. It didn't mean anything, she told herself numbly.
There could be explanations. Or she could move, that was it, she would move
away from Bentson...

      Kathryn pushed the rest of the pile toward her. Amy unwillingly picked up
a video. It had a cleanly printed label on it: "The Adventures of Amy
Walenski."

      "Daddy had the whole lot produced commercially. You star in your own
series, Amy." Kathryn mouthed the names as Amy read them off: "Call Girl Cums
On Command, Dildo Darling Does It Deep, Amateur Amy: Striptease Slut, Cheap
Motel Quickie Girl, Horny Housewife Hump Fun, Date Rape Dream Girl, "Blow Job
Bimbo, Sassy Schoolgirl Gets Spanked." There were four or five more.

      Amy put the tape down. A tentative smile blossomed. "You can't use these.
They'd show your father doing all these things to me. You wouldn't DARE ruin
him --"

      The heiress smirked. "Try again, cupcake. Daddy's nowhere in these tapes.
It's all Amy going solo. No faces, no names used. Just you and your favorite
part of the male anatomy -- up close and personal."

      But Amy's angry smile refused to die. It hung on stubbornly. "You use
these and I'll sue you. Big time.'

      Again, Kathryn shook her head. "No, no you won't. Because I have a
perfect right to produce and distribute these commercially." She pointed at the
stack of legal papers. "Too bad stupid little secretary Amy didn't read
everything she signed for the Boss. You gave his dummy off-shore corporation
complete power and authority over your 'performances' in exchange for fifty
dollars a piece -- your 'allowance' I believe it was. As Daddy's sole heir, I
now hold those rights."

      Amy's brown eyes narrowed, her thin, too-long nose was quivering with
frustration, her small mouth clamped shut. At last she spoke. "Fine -- you want
me to divorce Wendell or you'll prove what a slut I am -- what your father
turned me into? You pushed me too far Kathryn. There's no reason for me to do
anything you say. Either way I turn, you'll show me up as a whore -- whether
you use the tapes OR make me divorce Wendell the way you said. I can't win.
Which means in a way I can't lose either. I'll leaving. Do what you want. I'm
leaving town. I don't know why you want to hurt me, but I'm going someplace
you'll never find me."

      The blonde didn't say a word, merely smiled coldly. "Good luck to you,
Amy. Where will you go? No matter, I'll track you down. And wherever it is,
I'll make sure these," she pointed at the stack of videos," are given FREE OF
CHARGE to EVERY FUCKING VIDEO RENTAL STORE in a fifty mile radius. Your new
neighbors, new co-workers, new boyfriend, and yes, your new BOSS will know just
what you are, Amy Walenski. A porn star. A slut into the kinkiest kinds of sex.
You should be a popular gal, Amy. You're right about the situation," Kathryn
acknowledged, "In Bentson you'll always have the reputation a being a cheap
little slut. But that's still better than being known as an outright prostitute
and porn star, isn't it my dear?"

      Amy's last desperate smile disintegrated. She looked down. Defeated.

      "What do you want?" she whispered pitifully.

      Kathryn reached out, stroking Amy's golden cheek. "Just what is
rightfully mine, what I have inherited from my father. I want you, Amy. You're
working for me from now on."

      The young wife gasped and shook violently, shrinking from the caress and
shaking her head. Her mouth formed a horrified "O" as comprehension settled on
her. "You're offering me the choice between being a slut or being known as a
slut? No way. I'm not working for you. There's no way. Let people talk -- it's
still better than, than, than," Amy couldn't verbalize what things she imagined
Kathryn would want from her, would have her do --

      "Better than prison? Or maybe execution?" Amy stood up, sat down. It was
a bluff of some kind. What kind of stupidity was this bitch babbling about now?
But Kathryn's slate eyes were narrowed in deadly earnest. She passed a stack of
papers toward Amy. It took her a minute to fix on them, what they were. As she
reviewed them, Kathryn filled in the last bitter details.

      "Daddy's business dealings outside the community were extensive. I
believe you met some of his associates some time ago. South American gentlemen
very interested in laundering some particularly dirty drug money through a bank
in El Norte. Daddy was happy to oblige -- for a fee.

      But as you can see, his name isn't on those documents, the ones opening
the large commercial accounts in which their money was washed."

      Amy could see that. It was her name instead. She had willingly signed the
papers -- as a witness she had thought. But hers was the only signature now --
just hers and those of the South American "businessmen." Kathryn continued, in
a stern, public voice, from a law book produced from the bookshelf.

      "Criminal Code Statute 77-A-551 states 'Any individual involved in the
transfer of moneys related to the sale of narcotics shall be prosecuted as
would an individual directly responsible for sales of those illegal substances
to the legal limit of the law.' That means you go down for five million in drug
sales, honey. Big time. And there's a death penalty in this state. The war on
drugs takes no prisoners, Amy. And shows no mercy to drug dealing scum -- like
you." Kathryn gently took all the documents and placed them back in the safe.

      "But I didn't -- I never -- how could I --" Amy half-mumbled,
half-whined.

      "You worked in the bank -- the perfect cover. Signing documents was a
regular part of your duties. You simply took the opportunity to make some money
on the side -- a bribe maybe. Drugs maybe. Who cares why you did it? You're
just a slut -- nobody would be surprised, believe me," Kathryn promised her
with certainty.

      "So, Amy -- what's it to be? Slut or convict? Either way I'm delighted.
Even if you do choose to go the can, how long do you think you could stand
being some diesel dyke's bedmate? How long before you begged me to arrange a
pardon?" Kathryn reached out to caress her former classmate.

      But this time, Amy did not shirk from the caress. She endured it. As she
would learn to endure a whole new kind of living hell. Being a slave to a man
had been unbearable. Amy could only imagine what being the possession of a
woman would be like, especially one like Kathryn. Unremitting sheer agony. But
there was no longer a choice. Like her father before her, Kathryn had laid out
the facts. Prison would be worse, far worse.

      "I have something in mind for you Amy. I'll need a tarty secretary to
attend to my needs as I run Daddy's business concerns. You'll do quite nicely I
think. You'll obey my commands, I'll do the things I've thought about doing to
you since you crossed me. Both in the office and after-hours. I have soooo many
ideas, Amy. You'll be surprised. Creativity runs in my family that way."
Kathryn's blood red lips offered her prize a ripsaw smile.

      "And you'll soon learn that there's just one difference between me and
Daddy. I always thought he was too, too much of a softy." With that promise
made, Kathryn opened the top desk drawer and pulled out a riding crop. She
pushed her chair back and patted her lap.

      "Ready to learn your first lesson, Amy?"

      Amy rose unsteadily. She had been here before, it was deja vu. "Y-yes,
Ms. Baines," she answered, void of resistance. The words came easily now that
her fate was sealed.

      "A smile, if you please, Amy."

      Amy reached into her recent memory, found all the equipment she'd need --
the feelings of worthlessness, the whorish eagerness to obey and please, the
humiliating wetness between her legs spreading... Amy Walenski let it all fall
naturally, comfortably into place: the smile-leer, the misty kept-woman eyes,
the licking lips, the out-thrust chest. The pants were pulled down, the blouse
removed without even an order. With docile resignation, the secretary draped
herself over her new mistress's lap.

      As Kathryn let the crop fall, Amy tensed. Then she began to sob
helplessly, then she began to beg for mercy. Kathryn merely smirked, as she
stroked the hard crop against the small, shapely ass of her new pet.

      "He would have wanted it this way, don't you think, Amy?"


In Part Ten, the conclusion of THE MORTGAGE, Amy performs well for her new
boss, Ms. Baines.


                               (nc, m/f, f/f, bd)

      The following story contains adult material.  If below the age of 18, go
outside, get some fresh air and do something healthy (g).

      If you ARE 18, then you should know the following story is about a young
woman who is forced into non-consensual sex, public humiliation, and b&d, in
both m/f and f/f situations.  Both the characters and occurences in this series
are completely fictitious.

                                  The Mortgage
                                  by Marlissa

                                    PART TEN
                                    EPILOGUE

      Three years later...

      For a mini-financial empire, Baines Holding Company was actually
headquartered in a small office suite, comprising of Kathryn Baine's sumptuous
office that could and did second as a conference room and the small anteroom
outside where a bored secretary sat filing her nails.

      Jackson had drunk in the secretary when he had come for the meeting. She
was a medium-sized blonde with average looks and build, but her overall bearing
was definitely less than professional. And from the obviously dark roots, the
hair color was definitely temporary. He couldn't believe the twenty-something
was dressed for her work, unless the work was streetwalking. The yellow tube
top, the tiny spandex blue miniskirt, the yellow silk stockings and blue high
heels -- it all spelled SLUT in big bright letters. She was a class-A bimbo,
even down to the gum chewing.

      "Tim Jackson here to see Kathryn Baines, Miss," he looked at the name
plate but there was no last name, 'uh, Amy."

      The blonde fluttered her eyes and ran her hands through her hair, a big,
wild mop of platinum curls that ran crazily off her shoulders. She eyed him
with an intensity that caught him off guard. Was she hot for him, or was that
just imagination? And him with a wife and two kids.

      "Yes, sir, Mr. Jackson," she purred. "Ms. Baines?" she spoke into the
intercom. "Mr. Jackson is here to see you."

      The cold, efficient voice of Kathryn Baines responded promptly. "Be a
good girl and make sure he's comfortable, Amy. I'll be with him in ten minutes.
Then come in here. I need you for something."

      "Yes, Ma'am. At once Ma'am," the secretary replied. Was that fear he
heard in her voice? But she was smiling now, smiling at him, her attention
focused on the executive. She immediately thrust out her pert little A-cup
breasts in his direction and beamed a big, playful smile at the visitor. He
noticed the subtle grind the girl made as she put her hands demurely on her
hips as she rose.

      "May I fetch you some coffee, Mr. Jackson? A soft drink?" She pouted when
he shook his head. "Nothing, Sir? Please, if I can get anything for you, make
you more comfy in ANY way I can..." She let the promise hang, as she played
with her hair, her eyes obviously lingering in the direction of Jackson's
crotch. He couldn't believe what a slutty performance the bimbo was putting on
for him... except for one thing. It was working. He was smiling -- in contempt,
true. But he was smiling. And he was getting an erection.

      With a sexy sulky look, she opened Kathryn Baine's door. As the door
closed, Jackson could hear muffled talking and an occasional giggle from the
secretary. Twenty minutes later she emerged, wiping her lips with one hand and
pulling up her tube top with the other.

      "Ms. Baines will see you now, sir." Her brown eyes were burning coals for
him. He was happily married and she wasn't beautiful or anything, but Tim
Jackson was thinking hard about getting her phone number. He hadn't seen any
ring on her finger and she was more than available. If he knew his women
correctly, this slut was hungry for a good, hard cock.

      "Jackson? Jackson?" Kathryn tried to get his attention from the blonde's
swaying ass, a bright blue pendulum in her spandex miniskirt. As the horny
little secretary bent over to do some filing, he could see without any problem
that she was wearing a red thong lace panty! He forced himself to stand up and
smile at Kathryn. He was holding his briefcase over his midsection. Wouldn't do
to let the Dragon Lady see him with an erection.

      "So, the Bentson County Toxic Waste Authority wants my property,' she
began, seating herself behind the massive desk.

      Jackson pulled out the papers. "Yes, we want to expand and as you know
the property is essentially worthless now -- a fact you can't disapprove of,
given that your father pushed for the facility a few years ago. Are there any
tenants currently in the property?"

      "Daddy wanted to clean up the trash problem here in Bentson, Mr.
Jackson." The severe blonde smiled. Jackson was repulsed. She was attractive in
a conventional way, but she was so damn cold, a damn Ice Queen. "But that
doesn't mean I'm giving anything away. As to the tenants, no, there are none.
There was as a couple who lived there years ago, but they divorced and split
up. My secretary as a matter of fact and her ex-husband. They BOTH work for me
so I let her husband stay at a rooming house I own as part of his compensation.
I use him as a janitor at the factory I own."

      "And, the uh, secretary?,' Jackson asked, a little flushed.

      "She rents from me, again part of our employment arrangement. I have a
spare bedroom I let her live in. Very convenient to have her around night and
day. Commerce never sleeps Mr. Jackson!" Kathryn Baines used one of her
father's favorite expressions. "Back to figures, Mr. Jackson. What figure are
you proposing?"

      "Fifty thousand and you level the house." She was known as a tough
negotiator and he didn't flinch as he made the offer.

      "Sixty... and YOU level it," she countered.

      Jackson could go to sixty but what the hell choice did she have? Why
should he let her off the hook? Records showed her father had foreclosed on the
property and made a killing. She would already make more than enough. He shook
his head, refusing the deal.

      "Do you like my secretary, Mr. Jackson?" Before he could answer, she
buzzed the young woman in. Amy pranced in, as if she had been expecting this,
readying herself.

      "Well, Mr. Jackson?" she repeated.

      Jackson gulped. The peroxide blonde was licking her lips, hands on her
hips, looking straight at him... "She's an attractive young woman, Ms. Baines,
still I hardly know what this has to --"

      "Just 'attractive'? Look you're hurting Amy's feelings!" Baines smirked
in mock indignation. And in fact the secretary was pouting, her lower lip stuck
out petulantly.

      "Very pretty then."

      "Would you say 'sexy' Mr. Jackson?" Kathyrn Baines demanded.

      His vocal cord was there, he knew it. He found it, then managed a low
"Yes." The girl beamed now, the ultimate compliment he could bestow. She stuck
her small chest out again for him. But if she was really pleased, why was there
something else, something like fear in those eerily glassy brown eyes?

      "I bet if we settled on sixty, Amy would just love to spend the afternoon
with you, Mr. Jackson, wouldn't you, Amy?"

      The girl bit her lower lip and nodded, her big eyes begging him to accept
the offer. Her mouth was so tight, her ass so hard and...

      "Yes, Mr. Jackson. I'd loooove to go out with you on a date," she cooed.
Her tongue was darting all over her lips now, her hands rubbing her ass and
hips. Jesus, she was wet at the prospect of spreading her legs for him,
spreading her legs and doing other things... His erection was pulling a tent
out from his trousers.

      "It isn't your money, Jackson," Kathryn Baines reminded him. "So who gets
hurt? Besides, Amy knows ALL the safe places to go, places that only girls like
Amy know about. Go on, tell Mr. Jackson. Answer the questions you know he has
for you."

      Amy giggled, cocking her head shyly to one side. "Well, I'm a clean girl
-- I have a doctor's certificate to prove it, so I won't give you anything. I
promise Mr. Jackson!"

      Jackson blushed. It was the first thing he had wondered about the girl
upon seeing her for the first time.

      "And I know the best little place to have a date! It's called the
Honeymooners Motor Court. Rooms only cost ten dollars an hour and clean sheets
are only five dollars extra! And I swear I'll never, ever tell anyone!" The
girl was looking at him, pleading with him to take her to a cheap dive and fuck
her brains out. What was wrong with this picture?

      "What's going on here?" he suddenly demanded.

      Kathryn Baines didn't answer the question. But she did put two objects on
the table, objects which terrified the preening, pleading secretary.

      "Take these in case she gets out of line. She can be such a BAD GIRL from
time to time, Mr. Jackson."

      Jackson picked up the shiny metal handcuffs and riding crop with wonder
and awe. The bottle-made blonde was eyeing him with white faced fright. There
was a warm, coppery taste in his mouth. Christmas had come in the middle of
June.

      "Is 'sexy' worth an extra ten grand?"

      What ever was going on here, he could care less about. It wasn't his
money. He nodded. "Yes, Ms. Baines. We have a deal. But I want all afternoon --
not just an hour." Had the secretary sighed at that? Were her lips trembling?
If no longer made any difference to him. He shook the hand that reached across
the desk.

      Kathryn watched Jackson as he began pawing Amy on the way out of her
office. The ink wasn't dry yet on the agreement and he was feeling her up,
probably in the elevator by now. She would be tired from God knew what Jackson
would do to her that long summer afternoon, but Kathryn already had visions of
what little tricks she would teach Amy that night... things the live-in
bisexual slut could do to make her mistress-lover cum. It had been three years
and she had barely begun with her plaything.

      She closed the office and climbed into her Ferrari. Wendell had washed it
as instructed. Such a good servant when he wasn't drunk. Kathryn loved the way
he and Amy snapped at each other these days, loved ordering them to be quiet.
The smile vanished though. She was pensive as she thought about a problem as
the sleek sportscar sped her along to her next meeting.

      Amy was coming along nicely. She had been a wonderful secretary and had
helped her close hundreds of deals like this. But Kathryn was increasingly
concerned that Amy was enjoying her afternoon male 'dates' more than she
should. It was as if pleasing another woman wasn't enough, that full
satisfaction could only come from a man. She had seen in some of the videos she
had Amy perform in with Kathryn's unsuspecting business customers and clients
-- a look of release, of love even on the flushed wan face..

      It had to be stopped at once of course. Kathryn would brook no such
feelings. Amy would learn to derive her pleasure from her mistress's orgasms
and THEN Kathryn might allow her pet to enjoy herself -- and then only by
virtue of making love to her mistress. She would have to be taken from
situations where men were about and kept only for Kathryn's lust. Kathryn had
already decided what to do: the French maid outfit would look delicious on Amy.
Training the slut to become bisexual was fun; breaking her into forced
full-time lesbianism an absolute delight!

      But who to take her place as a slut secretary? Her next meeting provided
the answer. A young couple trying to buy their first home, one of the cheap
ranch houses in Baineswood, her newest real estate development. The wife a
sharp, assertive redhead, the husband some blue collar dolt. The newlywed wife
had the poutiest lips...

      "You don't have enough of a down payment, I afraid. Let's talk rent to
own, shall we?" she offered generously.

      The wife nodded, the sparkling green eyes and red hair bobbing in
cautious optimism back at her. Kathryn took care not to eye too obviously the
pert pair of 34Bs that jiggled under the woman's sun dress. Amy would be soooo
jealous of her new playmate's bigger chest size.

      The young wife was already asking details, so anxious to take this next
step in adulthood, all of which Kathryn answered reassuringly, soothingly,
addressing herself to the redhead, while the double-digit IQ'd hubby listened
in mild confusion.

      This would be fun.

                                    THE END