A Day In The Life

By Georg Kinaski

Editor of PA Magazine

The alarm clock sounds with its usual insistence. The blinking 6:00 AM announces another day. I immediately feel my roommate Cindy's arm on my bare thigh and wonder again if she's aware that she's taken to spooning with me when she sleeps. If she does, I wonder if it is because we have to keep the thermostat so low in order to afford the utilities and she's just seeking some warmth. Or if there's another reason altogether.

I have to move quickly. There are four of us sharing a tiny two bedroom and the bathroom schedule is almost military-like in precision. Me—Claire Stephens—my roomie Cindy Tilden in one room, and Tanya Petrovich and Janie McDougall in the other. I'm first—luck of the draw when we moved in together—but I only have fifteen minutes before it's Tanya's turn.

The bathroom, like everything else in the apartment—is tiny, but for a few brief moments I have more privacy than I'm going to enjoy all day. I lock the door and slip into the warm water streaming from the shower. Knowing exactly how long I have before the door pounding begins, I slip my fingers between my legs and begin masturbating with one hand as I wash my hair with the other. Not having the chastity belt on is still a surprise and I haven't been able to resist myself since it came off last Friday—when I was told I'd been promoted to Acting PA, up from Senior Secretary and Miss Wenders, the Office Manager, unlocked the damn thing. Not that I don't masturbate during the day—we're all required to at least once—but now it is of my choosing and I enjoy it.

My thoughts are bouncing between Brad Pitt and the cute newscaster on Fox when it starts. "OK!" I promise, hurriedly twisting the water off and bundling myself out, as Tanya brushes past me to enjoy her own 15 minutes. I step over Janie who is glued to the aerobics instructor on the television, doing stretches in her sports bra and panties. She's a pretty 26 year old brown haired girl, but she's close to her weight limit of 120 pounds. At 5' 9", she's pretty thin but her boss wants her to maintain her employment measurement goals, so she's practically pushing the extra weight out as she bends over and twists to the tv bimbo's orders.

Cindy is still drowsing as I take the seat at the vanity and begin making myself up for the day. My short auburn hair is soon dried and I twist it into a playful ponytail, a style I'm told Mr. Keller my boss prefers. This week I've been going a bit more subtle with the make-up. You don't have to go the "pay attention to me" look so much when you're a PA like me. A bit of pink lipstick, a tiny bit of blush, some mascara and then I let my naturally pale complexion take over.

Next I pull out my purchase from yesterday—a hot pink cotton thong. I'd have preferred something in lace, but on my salary, that's a tall order. When I start banking more of my PA-grade pay, I'll start investing in more seductive lingerie. By rights, I should be wearing garter belts and silk stockings, like my roommates—all Pas. But my own ascent to PA-dom has been brief. I was only promoted last week, having languished in the secretarial pool for the last six years.

I slip on the thong, certain that this will get Mr.Keller's attention at PI time. Without thinking, I slip on my strappy little training bra.

"Training bras suck." It is Cindy, finally rising from our bed. I can't tell if she's being snide or sympathetic. Probably both. I'm certain she's been watching me dress.

"Yeah," I acknowledge, looking down at the juvenile white cotton trainer. Easy for Cindy to say—her 34Cs were natural and reportedly much enjoyed by her own boss, Mr. Jensen. Before things started to change, I hadn't worn a training bra since I was 14. As a 32 A cup girl though, it was mandatory office wear. I resolved to ask Mr. Keller today if I could upgrade to a push-up or even a Wonder bra. I always hated the little girl feeling the dull stupid undergarment induced in me. What was I training for anyway? I was 36. Unless I got impossibly expensive implants, my breasts weren't ever getting any bigger.

"Cute panties though," Cindy remarked. I smiled, wondering how long she'd been watching me. We roomed together out of sheer necessity like so many working girls, but my roommate seemed unusually interested in my comings and goings. At 24, she was a lot younger and very pretty—one of those blondes made for today's world. At her age, I would never have dreamed of having a sexual interest in my roommate. But these days, roomies regularly became lovers out of frustration or boredom. You could hear Janie and Tanya go at it most nights.

"Oh, Mr. Stimson told us the rent's going up last night. Forgot to tell you. Twenty bucks more for each of us," she informs me.

"Again? I'm barely making it now! And he just raised it, what, six months ago?" It was hopeless. Housing was getting impossible these days. A landlord had you over a barrel and knew it too.

She shrugged. "Unless you want to apply for his alternate payment plan," she added, scowling. "He said he'd be happy to work out the extra in trade."

"Yeah, right. I'll find it," I promised, gritting my teeth. Stimson was disgusting. It would take a hell of a lot bigger increase before I'd drop to my knees like some of the other female tenants in the building. It was common knowledge that in exchange for entertaining him an hour each week, you could drop your rent by up to half. None of us had done so—yet.

I buttoned up my tight white Oxford blouse, slipped on the tiny black spandex miniskirt and stepped into my five inch heels. "See you tonight!" I waved and headed out to the bus stop, feeling Cindy's eyes on me as I departed.

I sighed inwardly as I stepped onto the bus. It was packed. Gingerly, I reached for the safety grip, absolutely sure that anyone who cared to know knew exactly what I was wearing under my skirt. I was used to having my bottom pinched on the bus—what career gal isn't?—and endured at least three on the short trip downtown. I used to try and stare the pincher down, but it was pointless. Unless I felt a finger dive between my legs, I ground my teeth and kept quiet.

It was a five block walk from the bus stop to the high rise. The short trip always depressed me. Milling around the skyscrapers in the business district were the inevitable bevy of prostitutes trying to lure executives with a quick thrill before starting the day. I'm not sure when or why prostitution started exploding. Probably when so many career women were thrown out of their jobs. Or because, with the economic downturn, so many women have to resort to it in order to feed their families. I shiver inwardly when I see them—the fortysomethings in tube tops, plying their trade desperately to uninterested executives. I often wonder if the reason the management doesn't call the cops to clear them out is because they want us secretaries to see them—so that we know exactly what alternative career paths are really open to us.

It was 8:30 exactly when I arrived at my cubicle. I was admittedly proud of it and had even decorated it a bit, with a small postcard of a sunflower and a snapshot of me and some college friends. I hadn't had a cubicle since I had been demoted from my accountant's position years ago, but as a PA I was entitled to one. I had never thought I'd have one again, and had resigned myself to the anonymous little desks you are assigned in the Secretarial Pool. I slipped my tupperware salad lunch container in the bottom drawer and went to prepare Mr. Keller's office for his arrival.

I was immediately drawn to the framed photo on his desk. He was new and no one knew much about him. The photo was one clue to his personal life. It was a brunette in her mid twenties, holding a smiling baby—his wife and child. Where had they met? She looked expensive. I guessed college. One of those girls sent to learn conversation and become an interesting marital ornament for an upper class frat boy. While the soon to be Mrs. Keller was competing to get on the cheerleading squad, Claire had been pouring in the hours to graduate summa cum laude. Who had really been smarter? Now the pampered Mrs. Keller was making breakfast for her husband and was looking forward to being a privileged, spoiled soccer mom, while I was living a cramped little life as a secretary with three bitchy roommates.

So much for feminism, I thought.

Quickly emptying the Out Tray and straightening the desktop, I hurried to prepare the coffee, which had to be hot and ready by 9:00 AM sharp. It was, just as he entered.

"Good morning Sir!" I exclaimed in my brightest Girl Friday, clutching my memo pad and pencil.

He smiled blandly, sitting down and turning on his computer.

"P.I.Sir?" I asked coyly. Panty Inspection.

He sipped his coffee slowly. "Sure, Claire. Why not?"

I closed the office door and started to walk to his side of the desk, but he shook his head. "There is fine," he said, pointing to the front of his desk. "Hurry up. I'm busy."

I nodded, biting my lip. I flipped up my skirt and presented my new thong to him.

"Fine," he waved his hand. "Get back to your desk," he brusquely instructed. I had hoped for more of a reaction than that. The thong had cost me $15 and all I had gotten was a glance. These days you prepare yourself for sexual harassment as a condition of employment, but it is worse when you don't even merit a quick morning feel from your boss. I had heard that he had specifically requested me as his PA, so it couldn't be that he didn't like me. I put it down to a busy morning and turned to go.

"Oh, Sir?"

"What is it?"

"May I schedule a meeting to discuss something? Today, if possible?"

"About what?"

"Well, I was wondering if I might have permission to wear a regular bra Sir."

He looked up suddenly. "That reminds me—send in Miss Tolland."

The Office Manager. "Yes Sir. At once Sir. Uh—my bra?"

"Now!"

I scurried out to fetch the Office Manager. Miss Tolland had been a secretary when I was still an executive at the firm. She still resented the fact that I had once been higher up that she and had never failed to remind me that things had irrevocably changed in her favour. She was busy dressing down an Office Girl for a dress code infraction when I passed on my boss'es message.

She blanched. "Is he angry?"

I nodded. "Yes Ma'am—seemed like it."

Less certain of herself, she trotted off to Mr. Jensen's office, with me in tow. Although the door was shut behind her, the loud swacks and her sobbing traveled through the office walls to my side. Ten minutes later, she was composing herself and nodding submissively.

"Yes, Sir. No, not again. Very embarrassing Sir. "I'll get straight on it. By end of day, Sir" She glared at me and left in a highly chastened state.

"Dictation!" It was my boss. I hurried in, closing the door, with pad in hand.

He pointed under his desk and I smiled. He spoke on the phone as I unbuttoned my blouse. I was trying my hardest to tease, but he simply snapped his fingers impatiently. He wanted his 10:00 blow job, not a drama exercise. I slipped the blouse off and crawled between his legs. Unzipping his trousers as quietly as I could, I began stroking his executive member as he spoke to a colleague about the details of some project they were both working on. Every secretary fancies herself an oral expert but I know my own BJs had a good reputation around the office. When you're not as big up top as other girls, you learn to compensate. I even figured that was why Mr. Keller had requisitioned me as his new PA.

As I bobbed up and down on his cock, he yanked down my bra and twisted my nipples. Bosses normally never bothered with my breasts because they were so small and I felt my nipples harden immediately in response to the unexpected attention. I began deep throating in gratitude and pushed my little boobs hard into the palm of his hand. I idly wondered if he'd have me ringed. Lots of bosses were having their PAs fitted with nipple rings and I made a mental note to ask if it hurt. Probably. Years ago breast size was irrelevant to your career in accounting, I rued the old "more than a handful is a waste" line. More like "less than a handful, less than a full paycheck" these days. But Mr. Keller obviously wasn't such a stickler on breasts if he had chosen me. Though from the photograph of his wife…she had big C cups.

He was ready to come and I prepared myself. It was a pretty big load and for a minute I thought I was going to gag, but after a scary second when I thought I'd spit it all up and over his expensive pants, I managed to get it all down with a gulp. I licked my lips and smiled up at him. He was still talking and didn't bother to look down, merely patting me on the head. I zipped him up, buttoned up my blouse and left him to his morning work, resuming my place outside his office. Ready to attend him at a minute's notice.

As I applied a fresh coat of lipstick at my desk, I wondered if he'd be doing me today. Finally. I'd been his PA for a week and other than the 10AM BJ, he hadn't so much as bothered to bend me over his desk for a quickie. A lot of girls would be relieved to at last have a boss who didn't look at them like personal whores. I had been one of the mouthiest when the new policies began to take effect about it, but that was then. I looked around the office and saw the world the way it was now. Interns in pigtails, dressed in the corporate schoolgirl uniform, dashing back and forth carrying memos or copying documents for the secretaries, office girls in tiny pleated skirts strutting about, hoping to catch the eye of a male manager, the tarted up secretaries dutifully typing up ream after ream of endless invoices or filing mountains of manila folders—all under the watchful eye of Miss Tolland, the imperious Office Manager. Until a week ago, I had been one of them—an anonymous secretary who rarely rated more than a few words from a manager. Just one in a crowd of girls available for a free feel or quick BJ in the Copy Room. Assigned as an extra in a little end of day heater act with some other girl. And if really lucky, treated like an adult every so often.

Now I was a PA. One of the office elite. Higher pay. With my own cubicle. Unbelted. Able to order any of the office girls to do copying or filing for me. Usage restricted to my manager and my manager only. Punishable only by my manager. I know such things sound silly when you remember how at 25, I was a Senior Accountant here and making six times what I do now. That I had my own office, that men actually worked for ME. That I was headed for bigger and better things when it all started to change. But what use was there in living in thee past? I was a PA now and if I wanted to hold onto it, I needed to make sure my boss was happy with me. I thought about how as I worked on the dictaphone through the morning.

Popping my head in at noon, I asked for permission to take lunch. "Yes, but first pick up my dry cleaning and then take these to the post office," he responded, handing me a pile of correspondence. I bit my tongue and nodded, thinking of the little salad hat would go uneaten again. Monday it had been off to pay his parking ticket. Tuesday it was picking up his passport. Wednesday it was picking up his wife's dry cleaning. Yesterday, it had been shopping for lingerie for his wife's birthday present. Lunch was just another slot to do my boss'es bidding, work-related or personal, it made no difference.

I was able to get it all done and was back at my desk by one. Mr. Keller was out on one of his long lunches as usual. I briefly thought about eating my salad at my desk, but my own lunch break was over. If I was caught, it would mean a spanking by Mr. Keller or Miss Tolland. I suppressed the desire and got back to work when the phone rang.

"Mr. Keller's Office, may I help you?"

"Are you his new girl?" It was a female voice.

"Yes, Ma'am. Claire, Ma'am," I answered obediently, not knowing if this was just another secretary or someone important—but not willing to take a chance antagonising anyone.

"I'm Mrs. Keller."

"Yes Ma'am! So nice to speak with you!"

"Is he there?" Ignoring my attempt to be friendly.

"No Ma'am. He's at lunch. May I take a message?"

She sighed. "No, it's nothing. Oh wait!"

"Yes, Ma'am?"

"Ask him to pick up some tampons for me, would you dear? Or better yet, why don't you do that. That's what you're for—to do little things like that—aren't you?"

"Yes Ma'am. That's what I'm for, " I answered, but she had already dropped the line, late already for some tennis match or garden party, no doubt. As Mr. Keller passed by my desk, I passed on the message. Without a word, he tossed a ten on my desk. "Just make sure you pick them up before four—I'm leaving early today."

I was walking with Mrs. Keller in my imagination, making clever conversation and bragging about my own successful executive husband when the screensaver reminder began flashing. YOU ARE SCHEDULED FOR A SRS IN 5 MINUTES. Then blank. Then…SRS IS MANDATORY FOR ALL SECRETARIAL-GRADE STAFF. There was no point in trying to do further work—the screen saver would lock me out for the next thirty minutes. I rose, picked up my purse and knocked on Mr. Keller's door. I hated this part of the day.

"Sir?"

"Yes?" He looked up, mildly distracted.

"It is time for my, uh, my SRS."

He smirked, tearing off a Secretarial Pass from the pad on his desk, filling it in. "I can't believe the company actually lets you girls go play with yourselves in the middle of the work day. Still I guess you won't get any work done until your little needs are attended to. Here you go," he handed me the pass that authorised my being away from my desk. "I want you to do my wife's errand after you finish up. I've allotted you an extra 20 minutes to go to the convenience store around the corner. Don't dwaddle. Where's your toy?"

I pulled the six inch bright red vibrator from my purse, blushing.

Again, he smirked. "I'm sure you'll give it a good workout." He returned to the reports on his desk. "Put the phone on voicemail and get going."

There were already four girls in line in the Ladies Room, waiting for the two masturbation stalls, currently occupied guessing from the soft sighs floating from them. I handed my pass to the SRS Monitor, a senior secretary who pointed to the line. You don't make conversation in the SRS line. You all know why you're there and you're not proud of the fact. Masturbation used to be a private affair. Now it is a public health issue, with female employees forced to stop mid-day and humbly request permission to play with themselves. As a PA, at least I don't have to ask my superior to unlock my chastity belt in order to do it. For some reason, that was the most utterly humiliating part of the whole process—standing there patiently while Miss Tolland looked for the key with my name on it and unlocked the finger-proof mandatory mesh belt.

At last a stall was free. The Monitor adjusted her stopwatch and, pointing at the door, says "Begin!" I expertly unzip my skirt and yank down my thongs, sitting on the toilet seat. I dip into my purse and withdraw the red vibrator. I have less than ten minutes now so I spread my legs, twist the base of the vibrator and feel its thrum. Gingerly I slip it between my lips. I close my eyes. It is so much easier with a vibrator, much better than the standard secretarial issue dildo and far better than the fingers office girls must use. My smooth mound is moist already and I imagine him—Mr. Keller—on top of me, in our spacious suburban home. I'm in my tennis whites, my skirt flipped up high and my husband pounding into me. I'm his wife, his trophy wife, chosen for my looks and my sparkling conversation. I have a credit card, and a Ladies' Maid and belong to the best circle of executive wives—

"THREE MINUTES!"

I pump the vibrator harder, trying to coax an orgasm before time is up but it is no use. I'm ready to give up when surprisingly it happens. A little squeak emerges from my throat and I sigh. I gently withdraw the vibrator and dress, careful to wipe myself with toilet paper so my panty crotch isn't soaked. Wet panties are a spankable offense. As I do, I idly wonder if the rumours are true—that a camera has recorded my moment of bliss and will be viewed later by a curious executive on the intranet.

I emerge from the stall and present my glistening vibrator to the monitor as proof that I've 'relieved' myself. She nods approvingly and I join a line of chagrined women washing off their own dildos, vibrators and fingers before returning to their work stations. We all have soft, dreamy smiles and I realise, not for the first time, that the shaming workplace rules really do work. It's hard to interview for an executive position when you're dressed like a bimbo. It's even harder to be a feminist when you can be spanked for talking without permission. And it is impossible to be independent and adult when you are ordered daily to play with yourself. We'll all return to our desks, relieved of the immediate sexual frustration, while the next wave builds up.

It was about 4:00 when I got back to the office. The cool air on the way to the shops had felt good and it was nice to cool down from the SRS without having to face the Boss directly afterwards. But seeing the two women standing in his doorframe made me wonder if it had been wise to take my time. One was clearly Miss Tolland-- black hair tied tightly in a bun, hands clutching the ruler that made her so feared in the Secretarial Pool. The other looked disconcertingly like, well, me-- at a distance anyway. Short auburn hair, pale skin, about the same height, even green eyes. But then the dissimilarities...younger by ten years and a lot, lot bustier. At least a C cup and happy to show it off in the grip of a too-small white oxford blouse, which she was busy tucking back in. Her black skin-tight miniskirt was only the beginning of a pair of black stockinged legs, with only the barest attempt to hide the black lace garters that held them up.

She looked at up at Mr. Keller with her hands on her hips, a dirty smile marred by the smeared lipstick, buttoning up her blouse and waiting.

Miss Tolland looked at me briefly, then turned her attention back to Mr. Keller, who remained transfixed by the redheaded slut standing before him. "Now that you're interviewed Miss Stevens, would you like to take some time to consider...?"

Mr. Keller reached over and unbuttoned the top three buttons on the redhead's blouse. "No-- she'll do. I wanted something more like this to begin with."

Miss Tolland paled. "Yes, Sir. It was a misunderstanding, the names are so similar-- I thought it strange but best not to question--"

"Fine, fine," he waved her off. "We've had our little discussion about THAT mistake already, haven't we Miss Tolland?"

The office manager looked incongruously humbled and dropped her eyes to the floor. "Yes, Sir...we have."

Mr. Keller ignored her, instead putting his palm on the young redhead's shoulder. "You auditioned well. I'll give you the job. Be here sharp at 8:30."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you Sir!" she purred.

I looked away, suddenly feeling utterly superfluous.

Miss Tolland turned to me now. "Carla Stevens will replace you as Mr. Keller's PA. You'll return to the Secretarial Pool Monday morning."

The redhead was looking at the sunflower print on the wall of my...her...new cubicle. She looked at me archly. "I want this cube immaculate. It belongs to me now. Do you understand...girl?"

'Girl' I was her senior by ten years at least. 'Girl.' It was what the PAs called the secretaries. "Yes, Ma'am. Immaculate." I looked up. Mr. Keller had already left for the day.

I cleaned up the cube with towels from the Ladies Room. Now it was as anonymous and empty as it had been for the last PA who had sat here. I reached into my purse and pulled out the red vibrator, placing it in the top drawer and closing it.

Friday at 5:00. The staff all buzzing about their weekends. Excited. I reported to Miss Tolland, box filled with the few personal items I'd brought in to decorate my cubicle. Desolate.

"You realise you'll need to wear a belt again?"

I nodded, trying desperately to keep from crying. Unsuccessfully.

"Let's get going then. I want to start my weekend." She handed me the small micro-mesh chastity belt. I looked around miserably.

"Come on, everyone's gone home!" she ordered, exasperated.

I slipped off the pink thong and stepped back into my wearable sexual prison. The definitive click satisfied her that I was, once again, just a secretary. I stepped back into my thongs and pulled up my miniskirt.

"Claire, the hair colour this month in the Secretarial Pool is platinum blonde. Be sure you conform Monday. Monday is also Red Panties Day, so dress appropriately."

"Yes Ma'am," I answered, wiping my cheek. All the petty, little rules and regulations were back.

She smiled. "The Office Supplies Girl is already gone, so you'll have to report Monday to sign out your new dildo. I think we have both purple and pink in stock, so you'll have a choice. Good to have you back under my wing again, Claire. I'll make sure that you're slotted back into Heater roster rotation. I know a number of the newer girls you haven't been paired up with yet that you'd perform excellently with!"

The bus trip and three transfers it involved went by in a blur. I understood why I had been demoted and I couldn't bring myself to stop thinking about it. Implants, damn it! Why hadn't I just gone for them when I still had the money? There had been a time when, as things had started to change, a lot of girls wised up and prepared. Implants. Collagen. Dramatic wardrobe changes. When the inevitable demotion came, they were ready to survive under the new regime. Not me. I * knew * it couldn't last—that women weren't going to be deprived of their equal status. So much for my acumen as a fortune teller.

I felt a hand cup my backside. "Nice!"

I turned, angrily. It was a teenage boy, a schoolkid wearing a private school blazer, showing off for his friends, who watched giggling.

"Please!" I pushed his hand off.

He pulled out a twenty. "How 'bout a quick bj at the next stop? For the three of us?" He waved the twenty tauntingly. He was maybe 16.

I smirked. "Yeah, right!" It galled me that a 16 year old had more disposable income that I'd have till next payday.

"What's the matter? Savin' it all up for the boss?" The boys giggled. "Maybe I'll be your boss someday. Then you'll have to do it for free!" I ignored them as they high fived and trundled off at the next stop. With my luck, I probably would be working for the little bastard soon enough.

It was my night to cook, but when you're living on a shoestring budget, cooking isn't exactly a consuming activity. The cupboard was pretty empty, so it would be another 2 minute noodle night again. Last night, Lean Cuisine Tofu. Now this. I sighed, put the kettle on and set the tiny kitchenette table. "Dinner!" I call and my roommates wearily sit themselves down for a thoroughly uninspiring Friday night meal.

All I want to do is go to bed after my depressing day, but the girls seem oddly excited. Janie spills her news first by putting it on the table. It is a bottle of red table wine. "My boss gave it to me! As a reward! I'm under my hiring weight!!!" We all squeal like tennyboppers. Alcohol! I hurriedly fetch four plastic cups and Janie does the honours, pouring us each a cup. Of course, we aren't legally allowed to purchase alcohol so it is a real treat when we get the chance to imbibe. Another adult right that has become an occasional privilege. Janie regales us with her successful weigh-in story and we gratefully listen to every boring detail.

Tanya s oddly quiet throughout and I'm sure, from her Cheshire cat smile, that she's about to one-up her roommate. When she does, it is a blockbuster. "My boss is taking me to LA next week. On business!" she can't help but wink. Travel! Getting on a plane! Seeing something other than the same boring sights! I used to travel—for business. Real business—not to be a corporate ornament or post-meeting fucktoy. I'm old enough to remember lots of travel and how I enjoyed it. Of opening the door on a four star hotel room in a city I'd never been in before.

"I can't wait to see LA!!!" Tanya enthused wildly.

Cindy snickered. "Do you think he'll allow you to leave the hotel room, hon?"

"Of course!" she replied, archly. "He told me to buy a new string bikini. He wants me to sunbathe till I get tanlines—says it would turn him on. And, uh, Cindy—can I uh borrow your 'jewelry' for the trip? He asked specifically for them."

'Jewelry'—it meant Cindy's pair of handcuffs. Tanya's boss wanted to handcuff her and rape her in a hotel room. How romantic. Still, then, why was I so damn jealous?

"Sure, hon. But I may need them tonight," she returned playfully. The girls looked at me and I was confused, blushing. Had Miss Old Fashioned Claire finally given in and started doing the lezbo twist after all?

Cindy enjoyed the momentary confusion at my expense when she dropped the bombshell. "Yeah, my boss may be visiting later. Tonight."

Tanya licks her lips. Janie unconsciously adjust her bra strap. I take a hard swallow of the cheap wine. Cindy looks triumphant. We've all been groped, forced to sexually service at work and live on the edge of poverty. But the possibility of a man visiting our close quarters apartment gets us all spinning. Practically swooning. An obscene thought I can't shake takes hold—that four vaginas are simultaneously getting wet at the prospect.

"He said he might tell his wife he's going out with the boys. Said he might pop over anytime between 8 and 10."

It was just after eleven when the knock on the door came. Tanya and Janie had given up by ten and were engaged in their nightly bump and grind, this evening a bit louder, spurred on no doubt by fantasies involving Cindy's Mr. Jensen. I had slipped on a blue cotton teddy and tapped my toes, waiting for the insanely pacing Cindy to come to bed. After dinner, she had immediately begun preparing on the promised visit of her boss. In her black lace g string, grater belt, sheer black stockings and tiny push up black lace Wonder bra, she looked like a hooker on speed, as her high heels strutted the tiny circuit of our apartment living room. I was on the verge of suggesting we call it a night when the knock came.

She looked me over triumphantly. "Looks like you're sleeping on the couch after all!" she boasted. "I KNEW he'd come!"

She opened the door to reveal a leering man of about 45 or so, obviously tipsy and not a little out of shape in his wrinkled suit. Would Cindy have to iron it for him in the morning? I would have, without being told either. He wasn't bad looking at all—thinning sandy hair, blue eye. Not the kind of guy I'd have ever given a second thought when I was Cindy's age. But now I was casually jealous. Mr. Keller never had penetrated me…and now my belt was back on.

I noticed Cindy's body language switch into slut mode without breaking a stride. Eyes wide, lips pouting, chest thrust out, hands behind her back. "Good evening Sir! How nice of you to drop by!" she chirped.

The sounds in Tanya and Janie's room ceased.

"I was in the neighborhood and thought I might check out where my secretary lived, that's all. Nice place, Blondie, he commented, lips curled in a sneer.

"Can I get you something?" she asked, even as she spread her legs imperceptibly, the black lace g string clearly suggesting the kind of hospitality she was expecting to provide.

I was trapped, eager to let them get to it but knowing they would need to make it to the bedroom first before I could curl up on the couch. As long as they were out here, there was no place for me to go or hide. That's when he noticed me.

"Who's the redhead, Blondie?" His attention brought on an embarrassing blush. Why should I be excited that he wanted to know?

Cindy wasn't nearly so thrilled. "My roommate Clare. Let's go to my bedroom and you can relax! It's late and you may as well stay over."

He nodded, evidently amused by her obvious burst of jealousy. "Sure, sure." He followed her but threw a backwards glimpse at me that said 'we're not through yet.'

I slumped into the couch. It was now 11:30 and the sounds from Tanya and Janie's room began again, little coos followed by giggles. Fierce whispering from my room now—Cindy sounding plaintive, Mr, Jensen sounding firmer. I wasn't asleep yet when Cindy emerged, amazingly still wearing her siren costume. By now I had assumed her boss had ripped it off for the night.

She shook me with unnecessary force. Her usually pretty face was flushed, her usual sly smile twisted into a petulant frown. "He wants you too." Before I could respond, she pushed on. "Says he'll give you twenty bucks. I said you'd get in trouble with your new boss though. That's right, isn't it?"

"I was demoted today—back to secretary. So no problem." I said it too quickly, before thinking it out. Was I that desperate that I was willing to participate in a menage a trois with my roommate and her boss? I had answered the question already. Not that I was proud of it.

Cindy flipped her fingers through her long blonde hair, smile going sly. "So, too bad huh? You're back in a belt then?"

I nodded dumbly. Trying to recover. "Yeah, so maybe it isn't such a great idea—"

"Hold on!" She scampered away and I could hear with sickening clairovoyance what was being debated between the strident girlish voice and the deeper male one. Finally a male chuckle.

"He said it is ok. I convinced him you're worth it," Cindy winked.

I looked away. "Oh. Um, yeah, but what…" I didn't want to ask.

Her eyes arched, a know-too-well smirk on her pretty, vain face. "You can fluff for me— then when we're through, do clean-up for us. Surely you've fluffed before."

I followed her slowly into the bedroom.

The next morning, Cindy gave me a little slap on the backside. "Coffee—for Mr. Jensen," she whispered fiercely. Of course. I rose weakly, naked except for my chastity belt. Tanya and Janie suppressed giggles as they watched me play waitress in the kitchen. Lolling about nude wasn't embarrassing in the least in a close-quarters apartment, but somehow being caught out in my chastity belt was absolutely mortifying.

Jensen was just rousing himself when I returned, Cindy raising her head from between his legs with a suspicious smeary smile. "Thanks, sweetie," he said, taking the mug from me. Without the least hesitation, he slipped a hand between my legs and rubbed the crotch of my micro-mesh chastity with his palm.

"Have a good time last night?" he asked cruelly. He damn well knows how frustrating playing the bottom girl role is in these things. I've done heaters before, but even they offer more satisfaction than acting the fluffer and cleaner-upper. I barely nod.

"Why don't you iron Mr. Jensen's suit, sweetie?" It is Cindy, still giving me orders, even in the aftermath of what happened last night. She hadn't been shy about issuing highly explicit commands then, to her boss'es delight.

Before returning to the kitchen with his suit, I slip on a robe to give myself some semblance of dignity in front of my other roommates. I iron in silence while Janie and Tanya exchange knowing glances over their breakfast slimshakes. I return them quickly—the sooner he leaves, the sooner I can begin my Saturday. Cindy actually takes the suit and helps him into it, drawing up his trousers with a playful sulkiness.

"Will you come back later?" she asks plaintively.

He pats her on the head as she zips him up. "Sorry sweets, kid's got a softball game today—family kind of thing." He draws out his wallet and tosses a crumpled twenty on the dresser. "For you, hon," he says to me. "Cindy was quite complimentary of your…shall we say…oral attentions last night? We'll do it again sometime, maybe soon," he promises as he takes his leave, careful to inspect our other two roomies who are suddenly shyly acting the coquettes. "Congratulations, Cindy!" he yells, before slamming the door.

"Thank you, Sir!" she yells back, all smiles.

I nod respectfully as he leaves, my pussy still throbbing as it has been all night long.

"He said there's an opening. At my work. Could mean extra money. You really made quite an impression!" Cindy idly comments as she returns to laze in our bed.

I resist the urge to rub my privates in front of her. What a difference a few hours make in the way we act around other people…around other girls. "Oh really? What's the job?"

"Senior Secretary."

"Like you?"

"Not exactly," she replies with barely concealed glee. "I was promoted…this morning. On the basis of my performance…last night. To PA!!!!" she shrieks.

I smile weakly. "Congratulations," I mumble.

"That means I'll need a girl to replace me. To work UNDER me," she adds significantly. "It means a twenty dollar a week raise."

I nod.

"And if you're a VERY GOOD GIRL, we might talk about loosening that belt of yours…"

"Yes—" I want to say Cindy, stop myself. "Yes Ma'am. I'll give notice first thing Monday morning."

My pussy throbs. Mr. Jensen. Cindy. Mr. Jensen. Cindy. The rent. The belt.

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