This is an old story, which was posted on one long chunk, and doesn’t get much attention. Since I’m finally writing a sequel, I thought I’d repost it in readable chunks and with new, AI produced images. I’m not carrying votes forward for this one.
It was a big day at our office. A visit from the board - come all the way from America, and they were doing a tour - even the Founder was there. We were tidying and cleaning all week. I hadn’t been there that long, but I was fully caught up in the excitement - our founder was a public figure, quite well known - not to mention insanely rich.
I felt incredibly lucky to have got the job - times were tight, and my qualifications weren’t all that great, for all that I had been an A student in school - things went a little wrong in my final year, what with my parents dying in a car crash, so exams weren’t top of my list. I went off the rails a little for a few years after that - drugs, bad boyfriends, minor criminality; now I was trying to get my life straight again.
But the job itself - well, dull wouldn’t do it justice. Still, it was better than waking up in an alley, half dead, and finding that my first thought was where the next fix might be.
It turned out that the VIP party was going to tour our floor, so I dressed up - bought a new outfit - ok, yes, slightly prettier outfit than my standard work ones - and had my hair done. And I wore my high shoes.
Picture: Lila dressed for work
I knew that my prettiness, and the curviness imparted to my slim body by decent tits and a round, tight ass, were perhaps something to do with me getting the job - even though no-one had tried anything on, there was a feeling that there were a slightly greater number of pretty young girls in the office than chance would normally allow, and an acceptance that such girls might dress a little more excitingly than in typical office culture. And as a pretty girl who had lost a couple of years, I was happy with that - if it would help me move on a little more quickly.
Of course, they were late - these things always run over time. And Natalie and I had gotten bored, so we began horsing about a little - pretending we were working up a welcome dance for the founder - just filling in the time, really, although both of us, I suspect, didn’t mind an opportunity to show off a little to the rest of the office. But as luck would have it, we were gee-ing each other on to do sexy little shimmies when the VIP party walked in.
It could have been - well, it was - an awkward moment, but one of the female execs with him seemed to figure it out very quickly, after a quick whisper to one of our colleagues, who happened to be by the door.
“Carry on girls” she called, as we were giggling ourselves back out of the the way, a little panicky, wondering if we were going to get fired.
“A light-hearted welcome routine, Sir”, she said to someone - the Founder presumably. And then she looked back at us, with a power in her stare. So, nervous, blushing and giggling, we had to do our little routine for real, including the cheerleader bit which we had only talked about - flicking up our skirts to show Him our knickers - it just went that way. We trailed off, weakly, giggling again, and went back to the side of the room, hearts thumping, grinning but also horribly embarrassed that our little bit of playing had got mixed up with such an important visit, but we did get a little round of applause and a few smiles from the visitors and more from our colleagues.
Picture: Lila dancing
It seemed soon forgotten, apart from banter - the party moved on, discussing more serious issues, no doubt. I saw the female exec eying us keenly, and wondered if we would get into trouble, but decided it wasn’t worth worrying about.
The rest of the morning was a bit of a holiday atmosphere, but real life quickly kicked in - we were a little behind as a result of the preparations work, and things were settling down - we would have forgotten all about it in a day or two.
Then, after lunch, I got a message - would I go to such a room on the fifth floor? Strange - I didn’t do many errands, and didn’t know anyone up there - but I went.
It was a small, swanky meeting room. The female exec from the morning was there, with one of the top brass - a woman - from our lot. Both of them looked incredibly suave and polished. I felt cheap and girlish; blushed. This had to be about this morning. Was I in trouble?
The exec - American, like the Founder, spoke;
“The Founder liked your dancing. He liked your body too, I think. You’re acceptably pretty. You dress nicely. You dress provocatively. You act sexy. He likes that in a pretty young girl.”
Picture: Ms M, intimidating
I was blushing, flustered - the way she was talking was inappropriate, certainly - bordered on the insulting, but it was undeniably flattering. It didn’t help, though, that there were two of them. I felt incredibly self-conscious. All I could do was to smile, and blush; a silly little half-giggle came from me. Suddenly, I was all tingly. Where was this going? A pause, they both looked at me, calm, assured, steady, but definitely watching my reaction closely. I realised I needed to to be clear - they wanted to know if I was pleased, if I was open to this sort of talk, before they said more.
Well, was I? Of course, I knew immediately that I was. It was exciting, the idea that this rich guy fancied me - even if it was on such an obvious level. But the situation was so weird - those two, so businesslike about it. No subtlety, no hiding place. Was I, really, happy to be talked about as totty, eye-candy, for the boss? I knew the answer. Yes. Yes, I wanted this; whatever it was, it would be a change, an adventure. One thing about straight life - it got quite dull.
It was hard, though, telling these powerful, competent, women - successful businesswomen who would never be in such circumstances - to make it clear that you were happy to be considered as a sex-object - but hey, I’d given up pride before. I blushed, make myself smile;
“Wow! Gosh! I’m .. Thank you!”
I sounded like an air-headed bimbo, but it seemed to do the job, because she carried on. Somewhere, I knew that I had been moved along a moral line, lost some self-respect. But I was weak and poor (so many debts..), and they were strong and wealthy. I swallowed, blushed, and kept smiling.
“He’d like to see more of you. You’re invited to a private party his evening. You will dance - you will dance a great deal. You will wear a sexy dress - definitely a dress; a small dress. High heels, sexy underwear; very skimpy, sexy underwear - do you understand?”
She didn’t ask if I could, or would go - just assumed. I was irritated, but I swallowed it - because of course I would go, of course I would dance, and of course I would wear a sexy dress - a VIP party! I smiled again, feeling weak; a little breathless;
“Yes .. yes - thank you!”
“One more thing”; she paused, letting the silence grow a little; “The founder will very likely wish to use you.”
A long silence. I knew what she meant, but I didn’t want to know. ‘Use me’ - ‘Use’? That was just .. degrading.
I tried to look innocent - as if I didn’t understand. None of us believed me. Eventually, with a tight, sneering little smile, she said, very clearly;
“He will want to fuck you. Use you for sex.”
The silence that followed was thick and somehow sonorous.
She was impassive; the other woman was impassive - they could have been talking about a filing cabinet. My heart was suddenly thumping; fast, irregular; I was shocked, breathing shallow and fast. Fuck the Founder! My legs were weak. At one level - yes - yes, of course - a rich, famous, good looking guy wanted to fuck me. Hooray! But to be asked like this - in this impersonal, official way! Too humiliating! I stared at them, mouth open, for a few seconds, then could not bear their even, calm expressions, and had to look down at the floor.
The silence dragged on. I was trembling. This was so unfair! Why were they being like this with me? All he had had to do was say a couple of nice things to me and I would do whatever he wanted. But to discuss it in this cold way - it was humiliating! I just couldn’t say yes. I couldn’t!
If I said no, then it would be over - no party, no dancing, no excitement, no chance at a different experience, a different life. I had to say yes! But I couldn’t! I looked up again, wretched, suddenly terrified of this cool, powerful woman. Terrified and at the same time fascinated.
“Your friend said yes. He may want both of you.”
“N .. Natalie?”
She just stared at me. She wasn’t going to help me out again.
I found out later this was a lie - she hadn’t spoken to Natalie then - but by then I had already said;
“O…OK. Yes .. I .. I guess so.” Oh my god, did I really say that? I really did. I was bright red, and trembling.
She looked carefully at me, inviting me to change my mind. I blushed more, but I didn’t speak, looked down at the floor, quivering.
A long silence, during which I twice nearly blurted out ‘No!’ - but somehow didn’t. And then it was too late;
“Very good. Veronica will give you money for new clothes, shoes, underwear, a hair-do, and tell you the details. There’s a dinner beforehand. Don’t eat much - keep to salads. Don’t get drunk. We will look after you - don’t take drinks from the general tables. We need to make sure - you understand.”
I supposed I did - they couldn’t let anything untoward happen to the Founder - didn’t want to risk me getting tanked from nerves or whatever.
She left me with Veronica, who gave me a little wallet with details. I was not to say anything at all to my colleagues - my boss would be informed that I was required on other duties. I should collect my things and leave straight away.
She told me a few shops that would be suitable. She was calm, and matter of fact, and it helped me calm down, too. It was as if we were discussing some normal practical event. There was a pre-loaded card in the wallet - she said there were two thousand pounds on it!
“Spend it anyway you like; but if your outfit or behaviour at the dinner or at the club are not acceptable, your employment will be terminated. Your employment will be terminated if you do anything wrong at all, in fact. On the other hand, if you can dance and act and generally co-operate in a pleasing way as you did this morning, all will be well, and you will earn a significant reward.”
“I need you to sign this Non Disclosure Agreement.”
Of course she did. Whatever happened, the little people must not tell the story of what really happens.
And of course, I signed it. I didn’t read all of it, but it was quite short and seemed to be saying what I thought it might. Again, the little people never check the contracts (actually, neither do the big people - they pay lawyers to do the boring stuff for them - but hey). The little people know they’re going to get fucked before they start - no matter what it says on the piece of paper - so what difference does it really make?
And in my case, of course, I literally did know that I was, actually, going to get fucked.
I felt so weird as I walked back down the hallway (my, but the upper floors were posh!) - I was now a whore. The weirdness, I realised, came from not hating the idea as much as I knew I ought to. As I said, I’d had some dark periods in my life already; this might turn out dark, but probably nothing to match my worst - and in much, much classier surroundings, with new, sexy clothes, to boot.
The weirdness came and went in waves as the afternoon wore on; I felt almost sick a couple of times - but there was nothing to be done about it: I’d signed the paper, and whatever they had told me, I sort of knew that if I pulled out now I’d lose my precious job; so I kept a tight lid on it and threw myself into spending their money.
It was surprisingly easy to spend a fair chunk of it, fast - 200 on a pair of very high-heeled strappy shoes that almost weren’t there, 150 on some gorgeous lingerie, ditto, 500 on a dress, ditto. It was a halter neck dress, and, looking in the mirror, I knew just what it needed to set it off perfectly.
Picture: Lila chooses a dress
The thought made me nervous, but I looked again, and it was right - the dress needed a stronger collar to tie the spaghetti straps to. I went into Ann Summers and there it was - a diamante collar, with a couple of steel rings on it that would be perfect. It came with a lead, as well. What the hell, I thought - if the guy wants to fuck me (and I keep having to remind myself that, unbelievably, I’ve said yes already!), he can have me on a leash!
Picture: Lila collared and leashed
I went to the beauty parlour in the hotel where the dinner was - Veronica’s sensible suggestion. Natalie was there, too. We both blushed, and for a while it was hard to talk anyway, as we were being shaved, and plucked, and toned. They shaved my pussy, all but a little ‘landing strip’, without asking if I wanted it. I would never have dared ask, but I liked it.
Picture: Lila landing srip
Nat and I got used to each other after a while, and the knowledge that we had both answered yes to a very unusual question was just accepted between us after a while, although we did eventually figure out the trick that had been played on us. By then, it made us giggle. Nervous giggles, though.
We kept stealing sidelong glances at each other, though; is that what a whore looks like? Are we really going to both be there - with him? Or would he choose? I assumed the latter - so it was a competition. Which was fine by me because I was beginning to feel good, while Nat was less sure about her dress, and was frankly envious of the collar - although she was right, it was a little whore-like.
Then, all of a sudden, there was only just time for a shower, a beautician, and to get dressed - and another 300 odd off the card! It was exciting, spending all this company money - and looking in the mirror and feeling that I might even be worth it!
Read the next part of “Just Said Yes”
