Easy, Part 2

This will make more sense if you have Read the first part of Easy’s story

In the days after the interview, Susan has to be very careful with herself.

Everything about it is raw, troubling; the deep feeling of wanting in her— desire, even— to get that job, work for those men, in that firm, in that building, gets stronger, if she is honest with herself, with every passing day.

At the same time, if she thinks about that then she has to think about all the warning signs, the belittling, the ways she was taken advantage of, the level of inappropriate behaviour, the many inappropriate things said to her, questions asked, assumptions and demands made, the heavy sexualisation of so much of it.

She can end up very trembly indeed, and on the verge of tears, very, very easily.

She had told the agency, when they had called, that she was sure she would not be offered the job, and they had sounded disappointed. However, a couple of days later, when they called about progress on other positions— all bad news; no interest (in fact there had been, but they had talked with Norah, and were quite optimistic - ADD had asked for exclusivity, wanted Susan under pressure). They asked her about ADD. Did she still want to pursue the placing? Would she be prepared to compromise at all on conditions of service?

When she had said, yes, she was interested, that her conditions on salary were already rock bottom, but that she’d consider any suggestion, of course, they had tutted a little, but told her not to completely give up hope; to make sure she was ready.

Still, she told herself, very definitely, to forget all about that job; she had flubbed the interview so badly. Norah disapproved of her. There was no way; she dard not let herself hope; found it too painful to think about it.

Despite that resolution, though, every half an hour or so, some sense memory came back to her about her time there, visceral, technicolour, full-spectrum emotionality— how could she have been so affected? How could any other position give her that level of connection, sense of rightness for her?

It was a horrible time; so up and down, so uncertain, seeing her remaining funds dribbling away, no new options.

So she found herself completely taken by surprise when the agency called her to tell her she had been asked to attend for a second interview at ADD.

After the shock, came the emotion; very complicated. Real fear, about what they would make of her, if they had her there, every day, knowing how weak she had felt, how easily manipulated she had been. At the same time real hope, real fizzing excitement in her that she had a chance, another chance.

Deep confusion.

And the words she had tried so hard not to allow into her mind, but which creep into her consciousness anyway— the attempt to suppress them just making them harder to ignore;

They’re going to want to put their hands on me, on my breasts, between my legs; going to want to fuck me, put their dicks into me.

She got into quite a state for a few minutes, had to have a long cold glass of water and stare hard, out of the window, at the wall opposite, force herself to just look at the dirty bricks, the water stains, the cracked mortar, the stripe of bird-lime, just to get herself under control.

It was worse, because she wasn’t disgusted by the idea. Because it was beginning to seem obvious. Because the words made the breath catch on her throat, made her belly squirm, made her hips shift, her heart thump. Was it fear, was it arousal? What was the difference?

All in all, it was an hour or more before she finally got up the nerve to call Norah.

“Ah yes, Susan. I was beginning to think you must not be interested. I understand the agency called you some time ago. I had expected more enthusiasm.”

“Oh! Oh, yes. very … I … Sorry! I am! I am very interested.”

Susan is already destabilised, on the back foot, failing.

“Well, the first thing I need to tell you is that this interview isn’t for a permanent position. The Partners haven’t found anyone good enough yet. You weren’t good enough, of course. But they need someone temporary while they continue the search, and you seem still to be available, unlike the others we’ve contacted. This is just a fill-in role, you must understand that— the Partners will be actively looking for someone to replace you, someone better than you. You will need to accept this. That you are not good enough, that you will be replaced as soon as possible. Would that be acceptable to you?”

Susan winces. It actually hurts her, she finds; Not only wasn’t I good enough, I wasn’t the first, or even the second, on top of the reject pile. Her eyes want to cry, but she swallows the tears, and puts on a fake bright tone;

“Yes! Oh … yes … of course. Anything.”

“A simple, ‘Yes Ma’am’ or ‘No Ma’am’ will do.”

Susan had to process that she would be giving Norah a title from then on, signalling her low status every time she spoke. She took a deep breath. It was no big deal, really;

“Ah … yes, Ma’am.” Even on the end of a telephone line, in her own flat, Susan is easily cowed.

“Better. Now, are you interested in some advice?”

Susan remembered the previous ‘advice’, and tried to prepare herself. She couldn’t help feeling nervous, but at the same time, she cannot deny that there is an excitement in her, too.

“Oh … yes, please,” then, after a long, expectant pause;

“Oh! Sorry! I … I mean yes, please, Ma’am . Sorry!”

“I’ll come to your flat this afternoon then, and help you pick out an outfit for your second intereview. It must go well, or even this temporary role will not be yours. I have your address.”

And Norah rang off, without asking whether this is acceptable to Susan, or specifying a time, and indeed, the girl doesn’t even think to be put out, in such a panic is she. Her flat was clean and tidy— it always was, she’s that kind of girl— but it was small and cheap and the decor was old and battered; she was ashamed that Norah from that glossy, immaculate world would see it, and so she tidied and cleaned more, rushed out to buy flowers, terrified lest she be out when Norah arrived, even though it was still only 11.

Fidgeting, she thought to get out a few possible outfits, laid them on the bed, decided she needed another shower, then wondered whether she should wear the outfit she prefers, to show initiative, or … or …

And so it was that she was still in her childhood keepsake bathrobe, and otherwise naked, when the bell rang, on the dot of noon. She dared not keep Norah waiting, and so she opened the door, blushing.

Picture: Easy in her cute bathrobe : Click here to reveal.

Norah’s look at her was strange, un-nerving, and she simpered, emitted a silly giggle, desperate that she had ruined her chances already;

“Oh! oh. I’m … I’m …"— she tails off.

Norah just looked at her, her face impassive, expectant.

“I … I mean, I was just. Just getting dressed…"— Susan ended, lamely.

This seems to satisfy Norah, who had wondered for a second whether she had judged the girl wrongly— whether she was in fact, a practiced tart, and had deliberately answered the door in a state of undress. But she now understands the truth, and is pleased to discover that the girl is as vulnerable and insecure as she had gauged. Not to mention just as pretty as she has remembered.

Which is good luck for Susan— or bad luck, depending on the point of view— because, once the Partners have decided which girls they like, it is Norah’s job to narrow down the selection. And Norah likes Susan for her own reasons, as well as a good candidate for the Partners to have their fun with.

Susan is in fact in pole position for the job, but ADD never let anyone have any more information or confidence than is actually necessary, to keep them on the hook, in order to be always able to extract maximum value from every transaction. They are fairly confident they can get a great deal out of Susan— possibly even everything. They have never yet found a girl from whom they can take everything. Norah knows that this is not something they are particularly concerned about— but at the same time, she knows that they would enjoy the bragging rights.

Maybe this weak, pretty, easily aroused little incipient nympho can be taken all the way.

Maybe she can.

“Indeed. Are you going ask me to come in?”

“Oh! Oh sorry! … I mean … erm … sorry, Ma’am,” Susan opens the door wide, pressing herself against the wall, and Norah sweeps past her, so that she has to let the door press, hard, against her breast.

Somehow, once in her small living space, Norah has taken charge of it, and it is Susan who feels out-of-place, wondering where to put herself, as Norah looks around her, her face impassive, As Susan cringes inwardly, seeing just how tawdry the place is.

Eventually, Norah, turns back to face her;

“You will address me properly at all times, girl. I am not here as your friend, but as someone serving the interests of ADD, which is to say, of the Partners. Do you understand?”

Susan is trembling, intimidated, cowed; Norah is doing this deliberately, she can tell, but it works nevertheless;

“Yes, Ma’am … I … I understand.”

It doesn’t help feeling so vulnerable, naked under the ridiculous fluffy robe, with the childish kitten cartoon characters.

“Do you have some things laid out for me to look at?”

Pink with embarrassment and anticipation, Susan just nods, and indicates the bedroom. Norah strides in without even a gesture at asking permission, surveys the items laid out on the bed for a dismissive second or two, then;

“So, this is your favourite, the best you can do?”

Norah does not sound encouraging.

“Y … Yes, , Ma’am .”

“Well, put them on, then.”

And when Susan hesitates, blushing again, twitching with nerves;

“Yes, dear, you’re right— I am going to see your breasts, and your legs, and your thighs and your pussy, too. And I am going to be asked about them back at the office. I can leave now, if you are unhappy about this.”

A long pause, Susan blushes, looks down, then up again, meeting Norah’s eyes. The older woman’s expression is not harsh, but expectant— wanting an honest answer.

“N … No … please, Ma’am. Please don’t go!”

Susan blushes, more deeply, and this time her voice is low, a little husky— they both know that a bridge is being crossed, as the girl, nervously, but as elegantly as she knows how, takes off the dressing gown. That evening, she throws it away, even though she hasn’t another one, or money to buy one with. She never wants to be seen in such childish clothes again. Better to be naked. Other things go, too, over the next days, in a ruthless review of everything.

Norah watches critically, outwardly unimpressed, but inwardly pleased— the girl is willing and practised at making an effort to emphasise her prettiness, but not confident in her assessment of herself— she cannot resist little glances, checking herself in the mirror, needing reassurance. Norah likes that— innocence combined with self-consciousness and a need to be worthy of approval. The girl knows that she can be pretty, hopes that she can win approval for her prettiness, but is deeply unsure whether she deserves attention for it, or how to deal with the sexual offer that goes alongside it.

“Turn.”

Susan obeys, the thin silk of her best blouse clinging where her skin still carries a sheen from the shower. Norah circles her like a curator inspecting a piece of art—one that might be worth acquiring, if properly framed. Her fingers pluck at the fabric over Susan’s ribs. “Too modest,” she declares. “They want to see what they’re buying.”

“If that’s the best you have, we’d better go shopping.”

Susan looks stricken, blushing.

“Well, what is it girl? Ah yes; I know. Money. Don’t worry about money. Money is not the issue here; the issue here is pleasing the Partners, making the most of what you are.”

“You do want to please the Partners, don’t you?”

A pointed look, probing, hard, unrelenting, merciless; Susan knows that this is getting darker; if she’s not super intelligent, she is also not at all stupid.

Is … Is this, what I really wanted? When I came to the City? To become a bimbo? A sex object?

The memory, though, of how it had felt floods into her, to be ushered into that room— so solid, so elegant, so … well, rich, to have them all looking at her, even though her blouse was half open (because her blouse was half open, her nipples stiff and sensitive), and her “Yes. Yes, I really do … Ma’am ,” is embarrassingly, revealingly urgent.

Norah’s smile is approving, but not warm— Susan has passed a test she didn’t know she was taking.

“Good girl,” she says, and Susan shivers at the praise, at the control in those two words.

“We’ll start with foundation garments. The Partners appreciate…structure.” Her gaze lingers on Susan’s breasts, making the girl’s nipples tighten beneath her blouse. Susan wonders why she isn’t covering herself— but more disturbing is the realization that she likes being looked at like this.

‘Structure’ turns out to mean a number of rather tight, confining bustier/corsets, none of which cover her nipples, all lifting her breasts up, but not constraining them, so that she knows that her nipples will jiggle, obvious, as she walks.

Complementing these are many pairs of slinky thigh-high stockings with pretty lace details, the tight stretch lace tops of them also a constant feeling of structure and confinement.

Shoes come next: outrageously high mules with a heavy platform soles— actually hard to walk in; the height of the heels, the lack of straps and the weight meaning that only quite small, careful steps feel safe. Susan looks doubtfully at Norah when she discovers this, but the woman’s face is bland, approving.

Apart from these decidedly controlling elements, everything else is decidedly non-structural— the emphasis on flimsy, insubstantial, skimpy, loose.

Only pale, gauzy blouses are to be worn— with one or two buttons only, or a tie front. None of them will tuck in. The look is simultaneously very smart, with the tightly controlled waistline, and very sexy, even with the most businesslike of the blouses. Some are not businesslike at all— in fact rather filmy— and some of the bustiers are really only waist-cinchers.

The skirts they buy are very short indeed, but absolutely gorgeous; flippy pleated ones, a tight, severe grey one with a flirty kick pleat and a slit in the side that would show a pantie waistband— or not. Lastly, a whole collection of sexy designer thong panties.

At one point Susan realises they have spent over $2,000. She feels a little weak, but exhilarated as well.

“Can— can I really wear all these lovely things?” she marvels.

Norah laughs at her, patronising; “Of course, dear— whatever else will we do with them— as long as you can keep your job, of course— they remain ADD’s property, you will understand. You’re doing quite well in those heels, but I’ll book you in to some deportment classes so you can wear taller ones and move elegantly— they’ll be in the evening, I’m afraid, along with some other courses we require you to take— will that be a problem?”

Susan shakes her head No, hesitating only briefly— no Ma’am, no Sir is going to want a girl who can’t walk elegantly in heels— she understands this— after all, she wants this job so badly— but something else occurs to her; “Other … other courses, Ma’am ?”

Norah picks up a silk thong between thumb and forefinger, letting it dangle. “Etiquette. Wine tasting. Small talk.” She drops the scrap of fabric into Susan’s hands. “How to be decorative. How to be quiet. How to obey, How to please.” The last words are deliberate, weighted. Susan’s fingers close around the thong, her breath hitching.

The changing room mirror shows her reflection—legs elongated by heels, waist cinched to nothing by the corset’s boning. A stranger stares back, sophisticated and fragile all at once. Norah steps behind her, resting hands on her shoulders. “Perhaps girl, you may just do— for a while, at least.” she murmurs.

“Do you feel sexy?”

Blushing, voice low, smiling weakly, shocked, but accepting, Susan says;

“Yes, Ma’am. Thank you”

“Wait ’til we get back to the office, then you can show yourself off to the Partners. Which of those thongs is going to make it impossible for them to resist you, do you think?”

And they choose one which is basically a small black satin patch, held in place by a fan of spaghetti straps secured by a silly red ribbon tied in a bow. Susan feels her chest heave— she has a mild panic for a moment— this can’t be her. But she calms herself: she’s been over this in her head, in different ways, many times over the past few days, and each time the outcome is the same: something in her wants to experience this— wants to stay with it, finds it seductively fascinating.

In the taxi, on the way back, she says what she has been thinking;

“Please, Ma’am— may … may I speak?”

She is blushing— it is surprisingly humiliating to have to ask whenever she needs to say something, but, without being told, she has discovered that this is a rule. She finds herself much less talkative than normal, already.

“Yes, dear, if you’ll remember to sit with your thighs parted while on work time.”

Susan is on the jump seat, facing Norah, and in the tiny skirt, just a small movement of her thighs affords Norah a clear view of the sexy thong and her whole crotch. She is surprised to find herself wanting Norah to enjoy the view, and her thighs part a little further; Norah smiles a small, tight smile of approval, and Susan blushes, but she is happy as well as ashamed.

“Um … well— I … I’d like to do … um … everything I can to … to see if I can be kept on— after they find someone better than me.”

“So … so I … I really want them to be pleased with me. And… … and you, too.”

She is blushing deeply now— not knowing quite what the implications of what she is saying are, but aware that she is making it clear that she is happy to be taken further advantage of.

“I’m glad to hear it, pretty.”

“And … and so I’d like … like to ask you, please, to … to be very … clear with me— I mean— tell me if I should be doing better— not let me … get away with anything. Do … does that make sense?”

Her voice is soft, and she is blushing, but she looks directly at Norah, sincerity in her eyes.

Norah smiles a little;

“You are asking me to be very strict with you, very controlling— to demand from you that you be exactly the girl the Partners want— is that right?”

Susan nods; her throat is tight.

“Even if that means pushing you … beyond your comfort zone?”

Susan’s heart thumps, she can hardly look at N; her cheeks are burning, but she is conscious of deep gratitude, and it is clear in her voice;

“P …please, I … I will be so … so grateful, M … Ma’am .”

“I understand you perfectly, my dear. You are asking me to keep you right up to the mark— to demand that you be as near perfect as possible. Well, my dear, I can of course help, but in fact, it has to come from inside you. You have to want to please. And you have to do what seems best to you. But if I am to help you, then something has to be clear.”

Susan’s heart thumps louder— she wants to know, but she dreads something that will push her too far, that she won’t be able easily to accept.

“P … Please, Ma’am … ?”

“It’s simple. You need to tell the Partners what you’ve told me— that you want to be the best for them, and ask them if they will put you onto a strict disciplinary regime— the harshest they are prepared to impose. That will mean corporal punishment for all misdemeanours.”

A pause, then;

“You … you mean s … spanking, Ma’am ?”

“Exactly so. Yes, you’ll be spanked, hard, for even minor slip-ups— that will help you keep you up to the mark, you’ll find. There’s a riding crop, too, and a dog-whip, for more serious transgressions.”

Susan blenches. She looks down, trembling, unable to speak. The image of herself, bent over a desk, skirt up, panties down, waiting for a spanking, or whatever a dog-whip is, is strong in her mind. She bites her lip.

Norah’s finger under her chin lifts her head;

“Well, pretty?”

“I … I … can … can I think about it, Ma’am . Please?”

Then, noticing a lifted eyebrow, Susan finds it necessary to say more;

“I … I mean I’m very … very grateful for the advice, and … and I’ll almost certainly want … want to take it, but … but it … it’s …”

and her voice gets very small— almost a whisper;

" … a little … more … more than …”

She tails off, blushing furiously.

Norah waits a little, keeping Susan guessing, before smiling a hard smile, without a trace of sympathy;

“Very good. Only— don’t leave it too long, now. I mean, now that you know what the Partners want, and given what you say about wanting to do whatever you can to be kept on, it wouldn’t seem to make any sense at all for you to need to think about it much, would it? But of course, dear, you’ll do what is best for you. Won’t you? To get what you really want?”

Susan’s breath catches— the words are smooth and kindly spoken, but there’s no denying the steel beneath them, the logical trap inescapable. She feels pinned— caught in her own foolish eagerness— having gone this far, she cannot possibly turn back now.

And, honestly, I … I don’t want to turn back now. I want to keep these lovely clothes, I want to work in that grand building, those plush rooms, with those rich, confident guys. I want it— I do! Even … Well, even with what it is going to cost …

Susan’s breath comes in shallow, effortful little sips as she follows Norah through the marble lobby of ADD’s headquarters. The tell-tale clack of her new heels echo like gunshots in the cavernous space. The corset digs into her ribs with each step—not painfully, but insistently, a constant reminder of its presence, each breath an actual effort. She catches her reflection in a polished brass elevator door: a silhouette of curves and restraint, every inch the expensive accessory. The thrill of it coils low in her stomach, tinged with fear.

I … I want to be the girl in the reflection, but … girls like that are expected to … to allow liberties. And I … I just don’t have a clue.

Ten minutes later, no time to collect herself, order her thoughts, she is back in the boardroom, for her second interview, intensely nervous, desperate to do well, feeling at the same time in love with her new clothes, and terribly sensitive about what they say about her, which is unmissable, obvious; that she has dressed herself intentionally this way, to encourage men to look at her and think about fucking her.

Norah, without asking this time, had stiffened her nipples for her, hurting her; and Susan had once again been passive, accepting, no matter that her heart was racing and her cheeks burning.

Picture: Easy in her new outfit : Click here to reveal.

The room reassures her, all over again— obviously designed without thought for cost— it’s dark, masculine, powerful aura just what she wants to be surrounded by— all expensive wood, deep red leather, hand crafted and skilfully worked.

It is at once intimidating and exciting to Susan; she is with serious money now, serious power.

She looks at the heavy leather chair, right there, placed for an interviewee, but remains standing, dares not even ask if she can sit. She is shocked by just how emotional she feels— how high the stakes are for her, how little power she has in this situation; feeling dainty, fragile, vulnerable, almost frightened.

Knowing, at some level, hoping that this is how they want her, needing them to find her desirable (I need them to think about how it will be to fuck me— shocked at her own thoughts, but finding them exciting, too) and so not trying to control the feelings, even though it feels so dangerous to let them see how weak she is; avoiding strong answers during the initial social chat (they are a little more friendly than the time before), speaking softly, in her upper register, smiling prettily, giggling often.

“You understand, Susan, that this is going to be quite a … demanding … role? You are going to be expected to look incredible, every minute of the day. You will need to have a manner that goes with your looks— sweet, eager, willing to please, tolerant and accommodating.”

“You will be here very early each morning, and will often be required to work rather late - essentially you won’t leave until you are told you may do so. You may be required to accompany staff members on trips away. You will often be required to dine with and entertain clients.”

“Nothing, absolutely nothing, will be too much trouble for you. You will give us the impression that you live to please us— that you have no life apart from your life here. Can you handle that?”

She is a little taken aback— that is REALLY full on.

Her doubt registers in her face, which is entertaining and encouraging; they don’t want a whore, someone who has been used up already; they want an innocent, but one who will be easy to suborn, control, degrade. They think they’ve found her.

But they are not going to tell her that.

“Well, what do you say?”

She has forgotten how to make her voice work, it seems; it takes her quite a little while to remember how to say ; “Yes.”

And a little while longer to say; “Yes, yes, Sir, I … I do understand, and … and I’m very happy to do … all … of those, those things…”

I’m mucking it up! Sounding stupid! I’m really not good enough for this, am I? But still, still, even if for only a few weeks… I must!

“Thank … thank you, Sir, for … for explaining. I really want to … I’ll do everything I can to … to try my best for you … for you all.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Nothing less than your best will be satisfactory, and you will be expected to work hard improve upon your best.”

“Thank … thank you, Sir.”

“So if we said that to work here you would need to dress as you are now— if anything, with significantly shorter skirts, higher heels, more revealing blouses, to allow Norah to be in charge of your appearance; not only your clothes, but your make-up, lingerie, jewellery, hair and so on, you wouldn’t mind that?”

She knows that this is not the sort of thing he should say, at all, that this warning is strong, that she must not ignore it. But instead she hears herself saying;

“No … no … I’d be … happy. … Sir.”

Then, honestly;

“I … I’d be very … very grateful to … to be sure that I could … could present myself just … just as you want me.”

Smiling, happiness flooding through her, knowing that she would love Norah to tell her what to wear— to be free of all that worry, to know that she was dressed the way they wanted, for it not to be her responsibility. And to wear gorgeous sexy clothes— even if they were a little revealing— couldn’t be a hardship.

Small, smug smiles, but they are moving on, pressing her again;

“And if it were explained to you that it would be expected of you to learn to curtsey prettily on entering the room, or indeed when any of us comes into the room where you are, to show your panties, to wait until you were acknowledged before lowering your skirt, would that be a problem?”

Her heart skips a beat at this; she can’t get her breath for a second. She blushes pink, feeling hot, darting a desperate glance at him to see if he is joking, knowing he isn’t, knowing that she cannot say yes to this; she wants to be able to, but it is too much, too much! They can’t ask that of her— it’s not fair! She tries to think of something to say;

“Please … that … I … I don’t know … if … if I can do that … Sirs.”

She is nearly crying. She wants to get this job so much! How can they be so mean?

On the other side of the room, they are feeling confident, enjoying this. They are happy she has not said yes straight away. Tarts and sluts are cheap and plentiful. But a shy, innocent beauty, who doesn’t think she can say yes, is always enjoyable to play power games with.

“Chloë— you don’t mind if I call you Chloë, do you? All the girls who take this position here get called Chloë; we like the name. You’d be fine with that, wouldn’t you?”

She is wrong-footed— what is this about? But she is happy to be able to say yes to something that seems harmless;

“Um … I … I guess so. I mean … Yes, Sir.”

Better! Ok, Chloë; here, girls curtsy. If you want to work here, you will want to curtsy. If you don’t, then we can say thank-you and goodbye. But we don’t like to be kept waiting, ever. So, if you want to stay, then flash those lovely legs at us, show us your panties, do your best to look enticing and we can move on. Either you are happy to please us, or you’re not.”

At that point, Susan realises, that this curtsy is symbolic, that, once she crosses this line, there will be no end of crossings.

But there is something else, too; something that has been in the air, but not said, but has now been made clear, without any hesitation. That these are strong, greedy, demanding men who will want everything from her, in return for letting her work in this place, wear these clothes, show herself to them.

And — despite every warning voice in her, everything that has told her that being put in such a position is something she must avoid with everything she’s got— despite all that, she’s suddenly sure that this— these greedy men, the girl they will make her be, is what she came to the City for.

Even— even if it seems like a whole lot more than she had been able to imagine.

Even— even if it seems like it is going to demand a lot of learning from her, a whole lot of accepting things that a girl really should not accept; even with all this, it is strong in her— deep, then— that she wants to be here.

Nevertheless, there is still a voice inside her, the sensible voice of her mom, her friends back home, her whole background, the church ladies, which tells her that she must be leaving now; that this is too much— that the price they will demand cannot be paid, that the debt will consume her, and, no matter that she is here, with those men who will give her what she came for, she is just not sure that she is brave enough to have what she wants, to pay the price, and she feels herself getting ready to move, turn away from them.

She is jittering, visibly jittering; knows they can see how weak she is, can’t hide it, desperately shy, a wave of vulnerability crashing over her.

They really … really shouldn’t be doing this to me; I’m so young, so, so inexperienced, and they … they must have done this to other girls, so … so I’ll mean nothing to them; nothing.

It’s too much! Too much! If I say yes they’ll … they’ll expect everything from me! Do … do everything to me! Norah says they will beat me! Use a whip! I won’t be able to resist, I’m too weak, and a part of me even wants it to be like that…

She is stuck, for the longest moment. Trapped, almost despairing.

And then, from nowhere, comes a ridiculous, girly little half-giggle;

“I … I, um …” her hands are moving toward her skirt hem, almost as if out of conscious control.

The same need in her, that made her leave town, has reasserted itself, controlling her, refusing to let this chance go by. More than willing to pay the price, to betray everything she used to be, for this new, harsh, demanding, exciting existence.

As these men’s eye-candy, office bimbo …

A tear glistens at her eye, but she blinks it away, smiling a helpless little smile as she meekly does the prettiest, sexiest curtsey she can manage— knowing that to do it badly will see her degraded and still rejected, slowly lifting the miniskirt hem to reveal, first, her smooth thighs above the lace stocking tops, then the enticing little panties that Norah and she chose, lifting her left foot and putting the toe to the ground, consequently parting her thighs, slowly and silkily bending her right leg, dipping her hips, her mound pushing gently forward as she does, then raising herself up again.

She urgently needs to know what their faces reveal, but dares dart a quick glance only, and her heart is chilled. They are so cool that they must have seen this a thousand times before. She is just another girl, of course. Of course. And now she is just another girl that shows her nickers on demand, who will therefore, obviously, tolerate a hand, reaching between her legs, exploring her there— otherwise, why lift her skirt?

She is surprised, though, to find that she is exhilarated; her heart is thumping, and a tingle is spreading at her pussy, at her nipples. She is shocked at how much she likes it, how grateful she is to them for pushing her into this. She glances upward— cool, they may be, but they are looking, and they are smiling!

It’s going to happen, she begins to feel it— they are going to push her and push her, and she is going to give, she cannot see how she will resist. Where will it end? She must leave, she must get away!

Then;

“Nice panties. Did you choose them specially for us? "

And, pathetically, she is happy again, happy that they like her panties! Even though they are so obviously intended as a sexual come-on, so blatant, she must now admit;

“Yes … yes, Sir, I did.”

“Well, we certainly approve, and it seems a good time to tell you that the job comes with a generous clothing allowance, so that there is never any reason not to be looking peachy. Much as the view is beguiling, I think you may lower your skirt now, pretty— but it was very good that you waited for instruction. As you know, we don’t think you’re up to the role; too young, no real experience, and— it appears— quite weak-minded, so try not to show any initiative. Wait to be instructed, ask if you absolutely have to, but generally, just work at being pretty and elegant, and wait to be told what to do. At which point, obviously, you will do whatever is asked of you, prettily, willingly, with a sweet smile.”

“Norah will tell you all the rules, later, if we decide to give you a few days work, but you might want to remember that, as well as curtsying on entering a room, anytime any of us fancies a treat, we’ll just call out ‘Pussy”, and you go right into the curtsy routine. Got that?”

“Yes. Yes, Sir.” She closes her eyes for a second. How can she just have said yes to that?

“Just one thing— you should do the little routine with the dip at the end, like you just did it— just before you lower your skirt— that was cute.”

It seems impossible not to agree, now;

“Ye … Yes Sir”

“OK, let’s try it: Pussy!”

And Susan/Chloë has no choice, or feels that way, at least, but to gather her skirt hem once more, and blushingly lift it up, a shy girl lifting her skirt on demand for three powerful older men, strangers to her still, holding herself as prettily as she can, for as long as they want, bubbling over inside with the thought that they must like something about her (even if it is just her legs, the shape of her pussy mound), or they wouldn’t have asked her to do it again.

“Very good, you may lower your skirt. Excellent— Norah will coach you on the finer points. Norah will also go over the other rules with you. I believe she has explained that we only have a temporary position available?”

A deliberately harsh way of putting it; the girl visibly winces;

“Yes, Sir” the voice very quiet now.

“Good. We hope to have found a girl we like more than you in the next two weeks— your employment here will be terminated as soon as we do. Do you understand this?”

He is speaking in a calm, almost humorous tone— so at odds with the harshness of what he is saying. It is painfully obvious that he and the others are enjoying this, enjoying rubbing her nose in her own powerlessness. And yet, she doesn’t hate him for it— she understands him perfectly. If he and his partners can build this, from the work they do with just a few helpers, then they must demand the best, at all times. She wants to be the best for them so much it almost hurts, even as she feels certain of her inferiority.

“I … I suppo … Yes Sir”— she is all but whispering.

“Good. Now, please tell us, in your own words, why and how much you want to work here.”

She is shocked. It hasn’t seemed that they are interested in anything she might say, apart from “Yes, Sir”— Norah didn’t warn her of this bit. Her mind is blank, panic is rising, until she remembers what she was thinking, only a few seconds before, and takes a deep breath. She doubts she will ever get the chance to say much about herself to any to them again;

“I … This … this is the perfect place for me. As soon as I came here I … I loved your building, the way the rooms are, the way … the way you have set everything up. I am … I am … feel … wonderful, here. I want to be here. I … I am full of … respect for … for how successful you … I mean … what a great firm … And … and great, great bosses; a wonderful … really, wonderful opportunity. And … and I understand that I’m probably … probably not … not good enough for you … you … you have to have the … the highest standards. But I’m going to try— if you give me the chance— I will do … I really will try to please you all, Sirs. If . if ever there is … anything … anything you want me to do … I mean …”

She trails off— cannot look at them, as she wants to do, because she knows that it is clear to all of them that she has just about told them that they can take liberties with her.

She is in a highly emotional state, but it is not clear to her whether she is sad or happy. Certainly her heart beats fast, her cheeks are flushed and her breath is uneven and slightly gasping, so that occasional sharp in-breaths emphasise her remarkable breasts rather effectively.

“Very good— not particularly coherent, but the sentiment sounded right. Well, perhaps you might give us a final curtsey before seeing yourself out and asking Norah to give you some detail. We need to have a conversation and decide what to do. Make that wiggle of your hips slow and deep, would you? Make it look nice and tasty.”

And she does her best, making no pretence about the movement of her hips as an invitation to sex, blushing fierily, tears starting at her eyes, biting her lip, standing, skirt held high, waiting to be allowed to lower it again. Finds herself wondering which one will be first to fuck her.

“Ever been spanked, Chloë?”

She blinks— a long, hard moment; she’s forgotten that they want her to answer to ‘Chloë’. Then, wishing she wasn’t, she answers, quietly; “No … No, Sir.”

“Not yet, you mean,” laughter from the others; “OK, off you go.”

Susan (Chloë— she must try to remember Chloë) didn’t forget to wiggle her hips again as she lowered her skirt, blushing, a girl who flashes her nickers on demand, who has jokes about spanking made at her expense, but who still smiles eagerly. A girl who is in turmoil, on the one hand knowing that to take this job will be to be pushed into all sorts of unacceptable vulnerabilities and humiliations, but on the other hand understanding that being treated so is the only way a girl like her will ever get to work here, and finding herself rather more interested in what those humiliations will feel like than she is comfortable accepting.

Read the next part of Easy’s story