This story is intended for adults above the age of 18. If you

are not 18 years or older, please do not read any further.

I hope all you fans of femdom literature enjoy this story.

GEORGE'S MAKEOVER

by Little Sissy Tippytoes (an309248@anon.penet.fi)

* * * * * * * * *

George Novala wasn't sure how his secretary had figured out what he was

up to; he only knew he was in serious trouble.

Over the past year, the company had been in turmoil. Repeated layoffs

had generated a climate of fear. Each employee was convinced he or she was

next to go. People were spending more time composing resumes and arranging

interviews with potential employers than they were doing their assigned

tasks. And pay had been frozen for well over a year, with no real hope of

a change in policy in the foreseeable future. With the economy as stagnant

as it was, and job security an oxymoron, the employees of Humboldt

Manufacturing were depressed. Depressed and angry. It seemed that no effort

was really rewarded anymore - even layoffs seemed unrelated to performance.

So, why bother trying? That was the hopeless refrain taken up by many of

the workers on the line, and even in the front office.

George Novala was not immune to such feelings. It just seemed this past

year had been a total loss. Nothing had seemed to go right. His rent had

increased, but his pay had remained unchanged. His car had finally collapsed

in a geriatric heap, and he'd had to replace it, and oh, lordy, what was

going on in the auto sales market? Sticker shock was an understatement as

far as George was concerned. So, he seemed to be falling further and further

behind no matter what he did. It really made no difference if he busted his

ass to please the boss, or if he took two hour lunches and put off projects

until next week. He still drew his paycheck, and worried from week to week

about being laid off.

His wife Miriam was no help, either. She had recently completed a course

in interior design and had landed a job as a consultant-trainee at a

prestigious downtown firm. It had turned out that she was a natural for this

profession, possessing an innate sense of what was appropriate for each

design problem she tackled, having ideas that sprang from an imagination

that was spectacularly creative. She had made a deep and lasting impression

on her superiors in the firm. They hoped to bring her quickly through her

'basic' training - all designers at this firm were required to go through

this probationary period - so they could turn her loose on a few projects

that had been languishing. These were projects where either the clients

wanted non-traditional or unconventional design approaches applied, or that

simply cried out for an original idea to make the whole scheme work. Miriam's

superiors knew she had the capability to energize a good number of these

projects. She just had to go through the training, so that her creativity

could be used to enhance the work of her firm, to strengthen its reputation

in the design community.

Lately it seemed that no matter how much they might vary their evenings,

George and Miriam simply were not connecting as they once had. Miriam would

come home flushed with exciting news she could barely hold inside once the

door opened. She seemed literally to bubble over with enthusiasm as, over

pre-dinner drinks, or perhaps over dinner itself, she would glory over the

adventures of her day. George would sit quietly, listening to Miriam

recounting her triumphs and victories, seething inside because his own life

had become so frustratingly dull. Although she'd been with the design firm

only six months, Miriam had done so well she'd been rewarded with two

salary increases. She had heard hints that when her probationary period was

finished, she would be given a fixed salary plus bonuses contract, and, if

she continued to excel as she had been doing, her bonuses would very likely

far outstrip her salary.

George's salary was, of course, frozen; had been for the past year-and-a-

half. As chief financial analyst for Humboldt Manufacturing, George was

responsible for all contract obligations the company incurred. It was a

routine job, but one that challenged his abilities. However, with all the

layoffs and the responsibilities which seemed always to be accumulating,

George felt overwhelmed and under-appreciated.

The idea had come to him quite by accident. He and Miriam had been

enjoying an after-dinner drink on the living room couch, and she had been

amusing him with a story about an out-of-town client, a big spender who

had demanded an interior decoration so hideous the firm had actually refused

the project, despite offers of triple the usual fees, because of their

concern that it would destroy their artistic reputation.

George had sighed, "Man, I wouldn't turn down an offer like that, no matter

how crummy the guy's taste might be. Money's money. And right now, I ain't

got any."

Miriam had cooed sympathetically, running her fingers through George's

longish ginger-colored hair. "Oh, I know, snuggums. It's a shame the way they

treat you down there at the plant. You should just insist on a raise. Or,

even better, don't ask. Just take the money and run." She giggled, slightly

tipsy.

Somewhere in the dim recesses of George's mind, a lightbulb went on.

'Take the money and run...take the money and run...take the money...'

It was like one of those popular songs that one hears on all the radio

stations until the melody is so embedded in one's consciousness it can't be

removed. Over and over, George heard the refrain, eventually letting it fill

his thoughts until an idea began to form in his mind. Of course! Take the

money, indeed, and run! He no longer cared about Humboldt Manufacturing.

They had repaid the loyalty of their workers with layoffs and frozen paychecks.

They had repaid the hard work of the employees left behind with speed-ups on

the assembly line and double-duty in the administrative offices. Everyone was

frustrated; everyone was depressed.

George thought, 'That's right. We're all getting screwed by the company.

We'd all like to get back at those vultures, any way we can. And I *can* get

back at them. And maybe take home a little extra payday as a reward.'

He thought about how he might exact his revenge. He would have to be careful,

whatever he did. He certainly had no desire to lose his job - not in this

economy - and lose any good references he might have had. Neither did he have

any desire to go to jail. So, whatever he did would have to be done on a

fairly small scale. There had to be enough financial reward to make it worth

the effort; but, the amount would have to be small enough that it would be

difficult to detect ('Hopefully impossible,' he thought).

But, finally, several weeks after the idea had originally entered his

mind, George thought he had come up with a foolproof scheme. It was,

coincidentally, during another after-dinner relaxation time with Miriam.

She had finally completed her probationary period, and had been given the

task of designing an entrance foyer for a new office building which would

house several high-power brokerage houses and law firms. The developers

wanted a design that would convey a sense of power, but in an elegant,

subtle way. Miriam was full of ideas, and was so excited that she'd drunk

a couple extra glasses of wine and was slightly tipsy, giggling happily

as she described some of her plans to George. He was a million miles

away, wrapped up in his own thoughts and schemes. Frankly, he'd become

increasingly annoyed by Miriam's success. She was on the verge of a career

breakthrough, poised to fly into the limitless realm of artistic and

financial success. He was stagnating at the hands of a company that seemed

mired in the mud, spinning its wheels and going precisely nowhere.

'I can tap into the retirement fund,' he realized. 'No one else even

examines that account, except me. And the auditors, once a year. I can

transfer funds from that account and at audit time, transfer some other

funds around to cover the holes. If I'm careful, and juggle things just

right, no one will ever suspect, especially the auditors.'

George could hardly sleep that night. All sorts of speculations crossed

his mind. He weighed the advantages of his scheme. He especially weighed the

disadvantages. He could create a dummy retiree, and siphon money into this

bogus account; he could forward income tax withholding, medicare, and other

debits into a petty cash account outside the retirement fund altogether,

to make it look like these deductions were being paid out. But, was it

foolproof? Could it work? George figured to begin with small transfers and

deposits, to see if anyone became suspicious. As time went on, he could

gradually increase the amount he was skimming.

But he hadn't reckoned on his secretary uncovering his scheme before he'd

barely put it into operation.

Valerie. Valerie the Valkyrie.

She had originally been a bookkeeper, and a very good one at that, in a

small accounting firm. The only reason she wasn't a CPA was that her

husband, who had owned the firm, had walked out on her while she was going

to night school, still three courses shy of her degree. He had left her

for a far less ambitious woman who stayed home nights and waited on him

hand and foot. Needless to say, he had fired Valerie the same day he left her.

And he had also emptied out their bank account, leaving her penniless and in

desperate need of income.

She had managed to land a job in the same division that George was in,

and she'd stayed there, earning far less than her potential, but enough to

survive and even to continue her schooling, though at a much slower pace.

Needless to say, Valerie subscribed to the "All men are - (fill in the

blank)" school of modern American womanhood. Whenever the subject of male-

female relationships came up among the women in the division, and it came up

frequently, Valerie was one of the loudest and most strident voices raised

against 'male privilege' and 'the double standard.' She had become so divisive

in her militancy that when a list of ten names of employees whose jobs could

be terminated at the next downsizing was circulated among the division's

managers, Valerie's name had topped the list.

But, she was a survivor. She had anticipated the possibility, indeed the

probability, of being let go, and had signed up for an onsite cross-

training class. So, when the bosses gave her the pink slip, she immediately

went to Human Resources and was reinstated as a typist in the office typing

pool. Although she lost some income as a result, she did manage to remain at

Humboldt Manufacturing. She didn't even miss a paycheck.

When another 'consolidation' took place, and the typing pool was eliminated,

it looked as though once again Valerie was going to lose her job. But, as

part of this downsizing, early retirements were offered to employees with

a certain number of years of service in the company. If enough people took

early retirement, fewer younger and more junior employees would have to be

laid off. Once again, Valerie survived. George's secretary, who had been

in the company a long time, had chosen to retire. George had asked for

another 'girl' to replace her; but his superiors instead chose Valerie,

since she knew the work of his division, was by far the best employee in the

typing pool, and was obviously the most qualified candidate. And she had

agreed to tone down the rhetoric. So, in an ironic turn of events that would

change George's life forever, Valerie returned to her old division. She was

determined never to be let go again.

* * * * * * * * *

"Well, well, well," Valerie's sarcastic taunt shattered the morning

calm. "What have we here, oh boss of mine?" She stood in his office door,

tapping a printed document against her hand. Despite her ability to get

under her supervisor's skin with her continual bitter barbs aimed at the

male sex, George admired her abilities. She really was an asset to his

operation. She was, he had to admit, an improvement over his former

secretary in one other way, as well. His previous 'girl' had been an

affectionate, grandmotherly sort of late middle-aged woman, someone who

'mother-hen'ed' the office, providing tea and sympathy to one and all.

Valerie was young, in her mid-twenties, and a knockout. She stood about

five-feet-six with generous breasts, slim waist and delightfully contoured

hips tapering into long, slender legs which were designed to show off

miniskirts. Her thick, curly orange-red hair contrasted nicely with her pale

skin; her face was a soft oval punctuated with large green eyes and full

lips that pouted just enough to make George want to kiss them whenever

he was in her presence. But, despite her beauty, despite her obvious

sexual aura, he never felt comfortable around her. He had the feeling she

was testing him in some way, and that no matter what he did, he flunked

her exam. There was the bitterness brought about by her disastrous marriage

that had shaped her attitude, causing her to be relentlessly sarcastic;

but, and George couldn't pin it down exactly, there was something else,

some sense he had that she was mocking him, putting him down, treating him

as if she were the superior and he the subordinate. Whatever it was, George

never felt quite at ease around her. Perhaps it was her take-charge demeanor:

George, for all his talent and expertise, never quite felt very confident

with people who were as talented or as expert as he. He blamed his height.

He was only five-eight, and slender. In her heels, Valerie was actually

taller; not by much, but enough that he felt a little intimidated by her,

especially when she was in attack mode, like now.

"What do you mean, Val?" he said, looking up from where he had been

studying the monthly figures. "What's that you're waving around? And,

by the way, don't you ever knock?"

"No need to, big guy," she crowed. "Not any more. Not where you're

going." She sat down in a small chair on the opposite side of the desk from

where George sat in his large, plush leather executive chair, crossing her

legs so that her skirt rode up to mid-thigh, causing his heart to jump - a

little, anyway.

"What's this all about?" he asked.

"Oh, we'll get to what this is all about in due time. Say, you got

any coffee made?"

"No. You ought to know that. You're the one who puts the pot on every

day."

"Oh, yes. I guess I do. Well, I don't feel like it this morning. Why

don't you make the coffee today, bossie dear? Then I'll let you know why

I'm so happy."

George gave her a puzzled look, then stood up and left the office to

put a pot of coffee on. He was gone several minutes, but finally returned

holding two cups in his hands. Valerie was sitting in her chair, gorgeous

legs still crossed, filing her nails and humming under her breath.

George handed her a cup, then sat down in his chair. He took a sip of

the steaming coffee, set the cup down in front of him, and said, "Now,

suppose you tell me what's got you all worked up this morning, hmm?"

Valerie smiled and winked. "I gotcha," she said.

For just a moment, his hands twitched. What had she said? 'I gotcha?'

He tried to remain composed, cool. "What does that mean, Val? What the

hell are you talking about?"

"Last week, I spotted it, but I wasn't sure. But this week, oh ho, I

am sure. And you're in deep shit, to put it mildly, oh boss of mine."

His upper lip was growing moist. "I still don't know what you're

talking about," he said, though with a note of uncertainty in his voice.

"Come on, George," Valerie responded. "Don't try to bullshit me. You

know very well what I'm talking about."

('Oh, fuck. Could she have - ? But, how - ? It was so well hidden -')

He tried to stay calm. "No, I don't know what you're talking about.

Would you mind filling me in?"

Valerie looked directly into his eyes. It was like facing two gun

barrels - cold and deadly. "I've uncovered your little scam. It's all

here in this printout." She held up the document.

George's face froze. Very cautiously, very quietly, he said, "May I

see that, please?"

Valerie laughed, "Sure, Georgie. It is yours, after all." She handed

him the printout. He glanced nervously at it. 'Holy shit,' he thought.

It was all there. The phony accounts, the transfers into them. The

whole sorry plot.

George looked at Valerie for a long time. "How did you - ? When - ?"

Valerie grinned. "George, how could you forget? Your password and mine

are linked together. Remember? So that I can be on top of your comings

and goings? You know, the efficient little helper? Well, I've been

preparing for my exams, and I thought some actual, real-world financial

situations would help make some of the theoretical stuff I've been

studying easier to understand and remember. So, for the past couple of

months I've been following the activities of the master, my boss-o.

And, of course, last week, I saw some activity going on that didn't make

any sense. You were setting up these accounts for people who didn't

exist. And you were doing it in a way that instantly signaled you wanted

these accounts kept out of the mainstream. Of course, I didn't know why

you were doing this until Friday afternoon. But, I figured it would be

fun to follow along. So, knowing that my i.d. has the same permissions

as yours, I just checked in each day to these accounts to see if there

was any action. And on Friday, bingo! There it was. Money pouring in!

Figuring out where the money came from, however, was a bit of a trick.

But I soon discovered the source. Shame on you, robbing from all those

old retired folks." She continued grinning.

George's face fell. 'Fuck! The first hit on the payroll and I'm

blown sky-high!' He looked at Valerie nervously. His neck was red and

his lower lip was trembling. Underneath the desk, his hands were shaking.

"What do you intend to do about this, Valerie?" he asked.

The grin disappeared. She looked sternly at him. "You realize, of

course, that embezzlement is a serious felony. You could do some very

long jail time." He nodded his head, slowly. His eyes focused on his

desk. "Look at me, George," she commanded. His eyes slowly raised to meet

hers. She could see the fear in them. 'Good,' she thought.

"Are you interested in going to prison?" she asked.

"No. Of course not."

"Well, maybe if you play ball with me, we can keep this little scheme

a secret. Maybe we can both make a profit on this little venture of yours.

Make no mistake about it, George. I've got you by the balls. You will

either deal with me, or you will deal with the federal authorities."

"What do you have in mind, Valerie?" George asked, trying to sound

interested. His mind was so filled with panic, however, he could barely

absorb what she was saying.

"I don't know yet, exactly. I'm still working out the details. But,

I can tell you this, little Georgie, there are going to be some serious

changes around here. You can be absolutely certain of that. Serious changes."

"Can you give me a hint of what you might have in mind?"

"You want a hint?" she asked, locking her eyes on his. He gulped, knowing

this was not going to be to his liking.

"Yes," he mumbled. "I guess so."

"Ok," she said, arrogance dripping from her words. "Here's a hint: by the

time I'm finished, I will own you. And I mean that literally."

His eyes betrayed his puzzled uncertainty.

Valerie continued, "That's your choice, George. Hard prison time. Or

belonging to me. I'm going to give you an hour to think about it. One hour.

Oh, and thanks for the coffee. Would you like to refill my cup?" She smiled,

and her smile seemed to freeze in a sneer. She handed her cup to George

who silently took it, walked out to Valerie's office to refill it, and

returned, handing it to her. She took it, then stood and said, "One hour."

As she turned to leave the office, she fixed George with a hard stare.

"By the way, don't think about trying to undo the damage. I've already

backed up the disk you set the phony files up on. I've also reset the

security codes so you can't erase them. And, I've changed our password

and reset the permissions, denying you entry." She smiled coldly at him

and left, closing the door behind her.

* * * * * * * * *

The next hour was probably the longest George had ever experienced in

his life. He thought about prison. Although the amount he had diverted to

his phony accounts was only about $10,000, small by comparison with some

embezzlement schemes, he knew he would spend at least five years behind

bars. His reputation would be shattered. His marriage would collapse. He'd

never find decent work again. On the other hand, he was afraid of Valerie.

Her comment that she would literally own him frightened him. He knew she

was a vindictive bitch; he knew she'd been waiting for just such a moment as

this. Surrendering to her might seem preferable to surrendering to the

state and federal authorities. But he was terrified; it might end up worse,

far worse.

And so he paced back and forth, wringing his hands, moaning in despair.

His choices were bad and worse. A voice in the back of his mind kept

repeating, "Jail is only for a little while. Valerie could be for life!"

He didn't want to believe it. Surely, she couldn't be so cruel that she

would want to punish him for the rest of his life. That was the question

that kept forcing itself into his mind. Did she literally mean 'literally'?

What did she mean by 'own'? What form would this 'ownership' take? He

paced and worried, worried and paced.

Finally, the hour ended. George had come to no conclusion. He was visibly

shaking in fear when the door latch turned and Valerie entered the room.

She was smiling broadly. Slowly, deliberately, like a queen, she crossed

the room, and sat down in George's large, plush leather executive chair. She

watched him as he tried to compose himself, thinking to herself what a pathetic

specimen he was.

"Well?" she demanded.

"Um, I haven't yet decided, Valerie. Can I have a little more time?"

"No, you can't," she replied, and leaned forward to pick up the phone.

George nearly leaped across the office. He placed his hand on hers.

"Please, Valerie. Don't do this. Don't turn me in. Look," he said, desperate,

"I'll put the money back. I'll close those accounts. It will look like

nothing ever happened. Please. Give me a break. I didn't intend any serious

harm to the company. I was just...fooling around, trying to see if I could

do it. Please. You've got to understand." His voice now had a whiny tone.

Valerie looked up at him as he leaned over the desk, his hand on hers.

She spoke in a voice filled with menace, "Take your hand off me, George."

He lifted his hand as though he'd placed it on a white-hot burner. She

continued to glare at him. "Choose, George," she murmured, cold as ice.

"Can't you at least give me some little idea of what you intend for me?"

he whined.

"You want a little idea?" she mocked.

"Yes," he mumbled, clearly defeated.

"No. Now, choose. Choose, or I pick up this phone and turn you in."

Uttering a low groan, George finally surrendered. "Alright. You win.

I'll do whatever you want."

"Very good," said Valerie, slowly removing her hand from the telephone.

"Here's what I want you to do for starters. From now on, in the privacy of

my office and yours, you will address me as 'Miss Valerie.' Is that

understood?"

George seemed a little puzzled. He frowned, but then said, "Ok. Sure.

That seems reasonable."

"You will stand at attention when you are in my presence."

Hesitation. "Ok."

"You will obey my orders, both direct and implied."

"Alright."

"Good. Wait here," she instructed. "Stand right here in front of the

desk, facing what used to be your chair. Then wait for me."

George moved to stand at the center of the desk, at a position more or

less resembling attention. Valerie stood and walked past him, disappearing

into her own office. A few minutes later, she returned, quietly shutting

the door behind her and locking it. She walked slowly past her nervous boss,

and seated herself in what she said used to be George's chair. He looked at

her. She was holding a pair of flowery, satin bikini panties in her hand.

They were lovely, trimmed with lacy edges.

"I want you to take these panties down to the men's room, George. I

want you to remove your own shorts, and I want you to put these on. But,

before you do, I want you to masturbate into your drawers, and I want you

to carry them back here to this office to show me you've followed my order."

George stared across the desk at her. Her hand began to move slowly toward

the phone. George swallowed hard, took the panties and put them in the pocket

of his suit coat, turned on his heel, and began to leave the office.

"Wait," Valerie said. "Aren't you forgetting something, George?"

He stopped, a puzzled frown on his face. "I'm not sure what you mean," he

said.

"Aren't you forgetting to say, 'Yes, Miss Valerie'?"

"Oh, of course," he said and, turning to face her, he said, "Yes, Miss

Valerie."

She smiled benignly at him.

Several minutes passed. Valerie sat quietly looking out the window and

reading reports which George had been examining before she'd dropped her

little bomb on him. She imagined him in the men's room, in the cramped

stall, trying to remove his trousers without making too much of a commotion,

beating off with one hand while holding his underpants in the other, ready

to catch his sperm when he came. She imagined him looking uncertain, afraid,

as he put on the panties. She imagined him hiding the cum-soaked shorts in

his suit coat as he returned to his office. She smiled and sighed with

contentment.

Finally, the door opened and George entered. He crossed the floor to

stand in front of his desk. Valerie looked up from the report she had

been studying. "Well?"

"I followed your instructions, uh, Miss, uh, Valerie."

"Let me see your drawers."

He placed the shorts on his desk.

"Where's the cum? I don't see any cum. Show it to me."

He unfolded the underwear and pressed it flat. A clearly damp-looking

stain was visible.

"Did you enjoy yourself, George?"

"Not really. Uhhmm. Miss, uh, Valerie."

"Let me see your panties."

George's eyes widened. But, deciding to press ahead, he unhooked his

belt, opened his trousers, and pulled them down. The panties, clearly a

size too small, were a vivid pink, with a pattern of tiny white flowers.

George's penis bulged against the skimpy fabric.

"Very cute, George. Do they feel as nice as they look?"

He looked at her nervously.

"Answer my question, George. Always you must answer my questions."

"I-I guess so, M-Miss, ahem, Valerie."

"Well, you look sweet in them. I want you to wear them the rest of the

day. Understand?"

He nodded. "Yes, Miss Valerie," he said softly, almost in a whisper.

"And when you get home, before you go to bed, I want you to wash them

out and let them dry. Tomorrow, I want you to wear them again to the

office."

George's face turned beet-red. "Yes, uhm, er, yes, Miss V-Valerie,"

he mumbled. How would he hide them from Miriam?

"Now, pull your pants up. You look ridiculous. Oh, yes, I want you to

leave your other drawers right here, on top of the desk."

They spent the rest of the morning in George's office. Valerie had

him brief her on the reports she had been examining. She asked probing,

intelligent questions, and by the end of the day, she was thoroughly

familiar with the nuances of these reports and had a beginning familiarity

with the portfolios of many of Humboldt Manufacturing's clients. She

didn't need to have George explain any general aspects of the division's

work. She already was an expert in that, owing to her night-school

education and the typing and filing she did as George's secretary.

As George passed Valerie's desk in the waiting room outside his office,

she stopped him. "Don't forget now, sweetie. Wash out your panties, let

them dry overnight, and wear them again tomorrow. Oh, and before you go,

take this." She handed him a small paper cup filled with water and a large

round pill.

After he swallowed the pill and drank the water, George asked, "What

kind of pill is it, Val - er, Miss Valerie?"

She smiled. "Estrogen." Then she stood up and walked into George's office,

closing the door behind her.

* * * * * * * * *

The next morning, when George arrived at the office, he noticed Valerie

wasn't there. Relieved, since he'd worried and fretted during the long

train ride from his suburban village into the city, he removed his topcoat

and opened the door to his office. He hung the coat on the rack just inside

the door, then strode calmly over to his desk. He seated himself in the

large, plush leather executive chair and picked up the morning mail.

"What are you doing in my chair?"

Startled, George looked up. Valerie was standing directly in front of

the desk. "What? Huh?"

"Get out of my chair this instant. Do you hear me?"

George quickly stood up.

"I explained to you yesterday where you are to stand when I am present

in this office, did I not?"

"Y-yes, M-Miss Valerie."

"Well?"

George quickly walked around to the front of the desk, stopping at the

center. He assumed a position of attention, feet together, hands at his

sides.

"From now on, sweetie, when you are in this office, you will sit at that

desk over there."

George turned his head to the area of the office where Valerie's finger

was pointed. He was surprised to see a small typist's-sized desk pushed up

against the wall with a small, cloth-covered typist's chair before it. The

person sitting there would face the wall, looking away from George's

executive desk.

"Now, turn towards me. Good. Let's see your panties. You do have them on,

don't you?"

George's face turned red. Slowly, he unzippered his trousers and lowered

them enough to show he was, indeed, wearing the panties Valerie had given

him the day before.

"How do they feel, sweetums?"

George mumbled, "T-they feel ok, uh, er, Miss, uh, Valerie."

"How nice. Now, drop your trousers. Fine. Lower your panties. Just a

little, so you can reach in and take hold of your little pee-pee."

George's ears were burning red. He felt thoroughly humiliated.

"Now, play with yourself. Go on. I want to see you have an orgasm."

George looked shocked. "You want me to, uh, what?"

"I want you to masturbate, and don't forget my proper title."

He looked disbelievingly at her. Slowly, her hand reached toward the

telephone. "Yes, Miss Valerie," he said, quickly, and began masturbating

himself.

"Did you wash out your panties last night, sweetie-pie?"

George, sliding his hand up and down his penis, responded, "Yes, Miss

Valerie," with a grunt.

"And did you let them dry as I instructed?"

"Y-yes, grmp, Miss Valerie."

"What did Miriam have to say about all this?"

Memories of the previous evening flashed into George's consciousness.

The night had been a disaster. Miriam had been feeling sexy and had sat

on his lap on the couch to enjoy a little husband-wife necking. But

George, all too aware of his panties and terrified of discovery, had

begged her not to get carried away. Disappointed, she had moved to

another chair and sat listlessly reading a women's magazine, occasionally

glancing at the television set until it was time to go to bed. George had

waited until Miriam was in bed, then had gone quickly into the bathroom,

holding the panties tightly wrapped in his hand, hoping no edges showed.

He had quickly washed them out in the sink, wrung them out, and then had

looked frantically about for a place to hang them so they would dry by

morning. Finally, he had snuck them back into the bedroom and had stuffed

them in the back of the closet.

When the alarm clock had sounded at six o'clock, George had sprung

from the bed, moved quickly to the closet, retrieved the panties and a

pair of trousers, and disappeared into the bathroom. When he had finally

emerged wearing only his panties and trousers, Miriam had looked at him

quizzically and said, "That's odd. You never wear your pants into the

bathroom. What's going on?"

George had mumbled some excuse, hastily completed his dressing, and

hurried from the room to the kitchen. Miriam had soon followed, and

all through breakfast she would look at him with a puzzled frown. Finally,

he had kissed her goodbye, put on his topcoat and left to drive to the

station. Miriam rode a later train into the city than George did, so he

was able to escape any questions she might be considering asking.

Valerie listened to this story with a grin, slowly rocking in her

chair, enjoying George's discomfort as he stood before her, penis in hand,

trying to tell the story and work up the sexual energy to masturbate.

Finally, Valerie stopped asking questions, and George was abel to concentrate

on the task at hand.

Slowly, he could feel himself growing hard, his penis lengthening and

steadily increasing in warmth. The head began to deepen in hue. Valerie

could recognize from his harsh, irregular breathing and from the intensity

and rapidity with which he was now thrashing at his penis, that George was

quickly nearing a climax. She said, "Pull your panties up and tuck little

dickie-wickie inside. Then rub yourself to climax."

George hastened to comply. Grunting and sweating, he managed to push

his penis down and pull the panties up over it. With both hands, he began

rubbing the front of the panties, trying to force enough friction to

finish himself off. He was moaning now, low and breathy, and Valerie

could tell he was very near. She picked her purse up from the floor,

then reached inside to pull out a small camera. Calmly, she aimed it

at the shivering George, and as he cried softly and his cum gushed out

of his cock, flooding his panties, she snapped the release. The flash

startled George, who quickly lifted his crimson face to look directly

at Valerie. She snapped another frame and began laughing, loudly. George

dropped his eyes to the floor, ashamed and defeated.

After a long silence, Valerie said, "You naughty boy. You've wet

yourself. Well, you'll just have to wear your soiled panties like that

all day long. Shame, shame, shame."

George mumbled, "Yes, Miss Valerie."

She commanded him to look directly at her. "The desk over there is

the desk you will use when you are in this room. In order to prevent

embarrassing situations, I would suggest you plan any meetings you might

schedule with other people for the small conference room down the hall.

Understand?"

"Yes, Miss Valerie." Spoken in a stage whisper.

"Take off your suit jacket, and strip to the waist."

Slowly, he complied with her instruction. When he was stripped to

the waist, she said, "Let me have your undershirt."

With some trepidation, he set his undershirt on the center of the

desk. Valerie reached into her purse and removed a small paper bag.

She opened the bag and pulled out a brassiere that matched the panties

George was wearing. His eyes opened wide and his jaw dropped. Valerie

tossed the bra to him and said, "Here. Put this on."

He looked like he was about to break down crying, but he reached

across the desk, caught the garment in his hand, and, unfamiliar with

hooks and eyes, even though he certainly had undone them many times,

he struggled to get the bra on. Finally, lips trembling, he stood

before her, feeling absolutely ridiculous. The bra, like the panties,

was at least one size too small. Valerie had cut the cups out of it, so

it lay flat across his chest. As she looked him over, she had a small

smile on her face. She reached again into the bag, and pulled out

something that looked like a slip which had been cut off at the waist.

It was slightly tan in color, and silky to the touch.

"This is a camisole. Your bra is so brightly colored it will show

through your shirt. So, I'm going to be kind to you, and let you wear

this over it. Go ahead. Put it on."

George took the camisole, pulled it over his head, and tugged it

into place.

"Now, put your shirt, tie and jacket back on," she said. "You will

wear this the rest of the day and through the evening. Like yesterday,

you will wash out your panties, and the bra and camisole tonight, and let

them dry. You will wear them to the office tomorrow. Understood?"

As he finished pulling his tie into place, George muttered, "Yes,

Miss Valerie."

"Good. Now, go put on some coffee and bring me a cup."

He said, "Yes, Miss Valerie," and left the office to complete his

task. Valerie watched him go, a wide smile on her face.

* * * * * * * * *

A pattern had been established. Each day, George would arrive at

work and make the coffee for Valerie. He would bring a cup into her

as she sat at what had been his executive desk. He would then move to the

center of the room where he would remove his clothing to show he was

wearing the bra, camisole and panties. Then, he would pull the panties

down and masturbate until, just before his climax, he would tuck his

penis into them and let his sperm gush out, soaking them with his cream.

He would then get dressed in his suit again as though nothing had happened.

Valerie would dismiss him to go fill his coffee cup. He would return, and

she would watch as he swallowed an estrogen tablet. He was now taking three

doses of the estrogen each day.

By the end of the second week, George had become familiar enough

with this routine that it no longer terrified him. It still embarrassed

him, however, having to face his secretary each morning in such a shameful

way. But, he was ashamed, not terrified.

Until the next payday. When he examined his receipt, he was deeply

puzzled to discover that the regular net pay deposit to his bank account

was smaller by ten percent. The next morning, Saturday, he drove to his

bank to check with the head cashier to be certain no mistake had been

made. This mystery preoccupied him the rest of the weekend, and he was

quiet and withdrawn, causing Miriam to become concerned about him.

Monday morning, he arrived at work, and, after stopping to put on the

coffee, he entered his office. He went to the small desk in the corner,

putting his briefcase underneath it. Then he sat in his small, cloth,

typist's chair, turned on his computer and looked at his mail. A message

popped on the screen: "Re: Your Ten Percent Pay Cut. See Me. Miss V."

George was so agitated he could barely concentrate on the rest of his mail.

He also had trouble understanding the morning reports which he was

required to study in order to brief Valerie. Finally, he heard her enter

the outer office, the waiting room. Standing up, he moved to the center

of the room, faced Valerie's executive desk and assumed the position of

attention, legs together, hands at his sides.

Valerie entered the room, and as she passed him, she patted his cheek

and exclaimed, "Good morning, little sweetums! Did we have a nice weekend?"

George, too agitated to engage in small talk, said, "Umm, Miss Valerie,

there seems to be a problem with my pay..."

Valerie waved her hand in dismissal. "Oh, you saw my message. Well,

babykins, there's no problem at all, really. It's just that I've begun

purchasing your new work wardrobe, and the money had to come from somewhere.

So I've opened a special 'expense' account for you. I figured ten percent of

your net pay would be a good place to start."

"B-but, how - ?"

"Same way you started your little embezzlement scheme, silly. I simply

wrote a script which caused Payroll to deduct ten percent of your net pay

and divert it to the account I opened for you. Aren't computers wonderful?"

George said in a very low voice, "Yes, Miss Valerie."

"Now, be a good boy and go get me some coffee. Then come back here and

do your chore."

George soon returned with Valerie's coffee and stripped down to his

feminine undergarments. Then, as had become the normal routine for his

life, he masturbated into his panties. Valerie had by now introduced a

new element of humiliation into the game. He was required to reach into

the sopping panties with his finger, scrape up as much of the cum as he

could, and then lick his finger clean. He would keep doing this until

Valerie was satisfied he had cleaned up most of the excess sperm. When

he had completed this task, but before she allowed him to dress, Valerie

reached into her purse and removed a razor. Seeing the razor, George

groaned inwardly, "Oh, no, please, no."

She held the razor out to him and said, "After you've taken your pill,

I want you to go into the men's room and shave your legs, all the way up

to your crotch."

George silently swallowed his estrogen tablet; then, after finishing

dressing, he reluctantly took the razor from her. He left the office

and wandered as if in a trance down to the men's restroom. Quietly, he

hid himself in the stall furthest from the entrance. As quietly as he

could, he lowered his trousers, and began pulling the razor down his

leg. Without shaving cream or water, it hurt like hell. And no matter

how gently he scraped, he couldn't hide the raspy razor sound. His

moderately long leg hair became entangled in the blade, causing him

real pain. He continued shaving as gently and quietly as he could,

silently crying, imagining what Miriam's reaction would be when she

discovered his shaved legs. For, make no mistake about it, Miriam was

bound sooner or later to find out. There was no way he could hide this

from her. He felt completely trapped and helpless. But what could he do?

If he refused to go along with Valerie's mad scheme, his embezzlement

would be exposed and he would have to face many long years in prison.

Where was Valerie headed with her cruel punishment? Where would it

end? Would it ever end? George shivered, afraid to know any of the answers.

Finally finished, he rubbed his now bald legs. They felt odd, soft and

unfamiliar. They also burned from the scraping of the razor against his

dry skin. George felt a knot growing in the pit of his stomach. He was

no longer in control of his own life, and he could see no way out of his

dilemma. Never had he felt so weak or defenseless before. Sighing in

despair, he pulled his trousers back up and returned to the office.

Quietly, he knocked on the door, heard Valerie call, "It's open,"

and quietly he entered the room, locking the door behind him. He walked

over to the front of Valerie's desk and assumed the position of attention

Valerie had insisted he maintain in her presence.

Valerie was studying a report which had been prepared for George by

the contracts office. She looked up and with a small smile said, "There's

a meeting at ten o'clock about some contract cost overruns. You're going

to be too busy to attend; but, don't worry, I'll go in your place."

Her smile broadened as George, standing at attention, merely nodded.

"Yes, Miss Valerie."

"Did you finish shaving?"

"Yes, Miss Valerie."

"Let me see."

His face glowing in embarrassment, George removed his shoes, then

unzipped and lowered his trousers. Head hanging in shame, he removed

them, folding them neatly before placing them on the floor beside himself.

Valerie stood and walked around the desk to face him. She leaned over

to examine him more closely, reaching out and rubbing his legs gently with

the tips of her fingers.

"Well, it's a little splotchy and uneven, but we'll do it again tomorrow

and really smooth things out. And now, my sweetums little embezzler, I have

another gift for you." She handed him a small box gaily decorated with

bright wrapping paper and a large bow.

Hands shaking, George accepted the package and slowly unwrapped it.

As he opened the box, his mouth flew open. "Wha - !?" he exclaimed,

removing a garter belt and a pair of black silk stockings. "Oh, no, oh,

no," he moaned, his head drooping onto his chest.

Valerie smiled at the forlorn man standing before her. "Well, what's

the problem, sweetie? Those are lovely stockings, and you'll look lovely

in them. Go on. Try them on."

George was crying in earnest. His chest heaved and shook as huge sobs

welled up inside him, escaping in choked gasps. Tears rolled down his

cheeks. "Oh, please, Miss Valerie, please don't make me do this. This,

this is too much. Please, no, no..."

Valerie calmly watched him as he tried to regain his composure.

"Perhaps you're right. I guess I have been too harsh. Maybe this game has

gotten out of control. Why don't I just call the auditors and report some

funds missing from the retirement account? Then, we'll just let them do

their investigating, and see what happens after that. Ok?" She turned and

placed her hand on the phone.

George cried, "Wait. No. Er. Ok. You win." His voice tailed off to a

sigh. He placed the garter belt and stockings on the desk, then removed

his socks, dropping them on top of his trousers. Slowly, as though he

were approaching an unexploded bomb, he took one stocking off the desk.

Carefully, he wadded it up, then fitted it over his toe as he had watched

Miriam do many times in their married life. Slowly, red-faced with

embarrassment, he drew the stocking up his leg.

Valerie said, "Make sure there are no wrinkles, Georgie dear. And the

seams had better be straight, too."

George mumbled, "Yes, Miss Valerie."

As slowly and reluctantly as he had pulled on the first stocking, he

did the same with the second one. Having completed that task, he next

took the garter belt and attempted to fasten the hooks behind him. His

hands were shaking so badly, however, he couldn't do it. Valerie stepped

forward and showed him how to hook the catch in front, then fit it behind.

She also showed him how to fasten the garter straps to the stocking tops.

But before he did that, she had him remove his cum-encrusted panties.

Once the straps were fastened, he put the panties back on. Finally, he

stood before her, his head bowed in despondent shame, his jacket and tie

neatly arranged up top, his stockings neatly fitted below.

Valerie chuckled. "Just as I thought. You look lovely, my dear," she said.

His eyes were brimming with tears. "Oh, Miss Valerie," he sobbed.

"What am I going to tell my wife? I can't hide this from her, the way I hid

the panties and bra. As soon as I take my trousers off, she's going to know

I shaved my legs. What am I going to say?"

Valerie's eyes narrowed and her voice grew suddenly cold. "How you

handle your wife is of no concern to me," she said. "That's your little

problem. You'll have to take care of it yourself." She continued to glare

at the man standing, head down, before her. Then, she seemed to brighten up

again. "Oh, damn! George, I nearly forgot. I wanted you to shave your

armpits, too! Well, here, take this razor back down to the men's room

and just get rid of all that nasty armpit hair. Ok? Now, be a good boy

and run along."

George's lower lip was trembling as he mumbled, "Yes, Miss Valerie."

He started to put his socks on over the stockings.

"Oh, no you don't," said Valerie in a firm voice. "Those go in the

trash. I don't want anything covering those lovely black silk stockings.

I paid a lot of money for those out of your expense account. I won't have

you covering them up like that." She snatched his socks from his hands

as he groaned in despair. She returned to her chair and sat down, stuffing

the socks in one of the drawers. "Now hurry up, dear," she said. "I've got

to get to that ten o'clock meeting."

George finished pulling his trousers up and tucking his shirt inside.

He then put his shoes on, and, picking the razor up off the desk, he

silently turned and left the office. When he got to the men's room, he

once again took the stall furthest from the door, locking the door behind

him. He removed his jacket, tie and shirt. Then, as he had done with his

legs, he tried to shave his armpits as quietly and gently as he could,

in case someone else came in the room. The dry razor burned even more

against his sensitive underarm skin than it had against his legs. It felt

like each hair was being yanked from his armpits one at a time. But,

finally, he completed the shaving, luckily with no one entering the

room. He put his shirt, tie and jacket back on, and returned once again

to his office to face humiliation and shame.

Valerie was in a hurry to leave for the meeting, but she insisted

he show her the results of his efforts, anyway. So, once again he took

off his jacket, tie and shirt, and standing now only in his camisole

and bra above his waist, he lifted his arms to show Valerie what he had

accomplished. She patted his cheek and congratulated him on a job well done.

Then, as he was dressing once again, she instructed him on some filing

tasks she had neglected that needed attention. She patted his cheek again

and in a flurry, was gone from the room.

George was filled with fear and despair. Self-conscious about wearing

the stockings, afraid someone might discover them (were his trouser legs

long enough to cover them, especially when he sat down?), he opened the

office door, stepped into the reception area, and walked quickly to Valerie's

old desk. The top was bare, excetp for a single envelope with 'George'

written on it. He picked up the envelope and opened it. Inside was a note

which read: "Georgie, sweetie. On your desk are several file folders to be

returned to their proper places. There is also a lot of correspondencee that

needs to be opened and sorted. I know this will be a real challenge for you,

since I don't think you've ever done this sort of thing before. But be

patient and do the very best you can. If your have any questions or problems,

you can see me after my meeting. Miss V."

George walked back into the large office and went to the executive

desk. It was clear, except for a single portfolio containing reports

from the Engineering Division. There was no correspondence, no stack of

files. George was confused, until, suddenly, it dawned on him that Valerie

had meant for him to look on the small desk facing the wall opposite the

executive desk. Sighing, he crossed the room and sat in the typist's chair.

He picked up the stack of folders and began leafing through them. They

were neatly labeled, so he figured all he had to do was find the appropriate

file cabinet and insert the folder in its proper location. He carried the

folders into the outer office and began searching through the several file

cabinets. Being totally unfamiliar with the filing system, he quickly became

hopelessly lost. It seemed to take forever to find where each folder

belonged. In fact, he had only filed half the stack when Valerie walked in.

As she passed him, heading toward the door of the inner office, she snapped

her fingers. Startled, he looked up from where he was bent over placing a

folder in a drawer, and she wiggled her finger at him, indicating he should

follow her into the office.

Quickly, she crossed the floor and sat down in her chair. Quietly, George

assumed his attention position in front of her. The pattern was becoming set

in concrete. He shuddered, realizing just how much things had changed in the

last few weeks. She looked across the large desk at him. "Well, Georgie?

How's the filing going?"

He stared at the floor, "I-I'm not very familiar with your system, Miss

Valerie, so it's - ahem - it's going pretty slowly."

She waved her hand. "Never mind. You'll get used to it. But, right now,

I need to pick your brain. Some questions came up in the meeting this

morning regarding this contract, and I need to know how to respond to

the project director. By the way, they asked where you were, and I told

them you were stuck in the john, and had asked me to take your place."

George's face colored slightly. "That's not much of an excuse for missing

a meeting of this importance, Miss Valerie. Couldn't you perhaps have said

I had been detained by another high-level person in the company?"

Valerie ignored him. "They thought it was funny. After they finished

laughing, they told me to tell you to quit eating Mexican food for breakfast."

She grinned wickedly at him. Just then, the phone rang. Valerie picked it

up, listened for a second, then said, "He's right here." She handed the

phone to George. He listened for a few seconds, then said, "Yes, ok, certainly.

Yes, sir." He handed the phone back to Valerie, who replaced it in the cradle.

"What was that all about?" she asked.

His voice low, he said, "That was the project director from your meeting

this morning."

Valerie grew interested. "What did he want?"

George said, "He told me that he wants you to handle the contract for him,

including negotiations, performance reviews - the whole ball of wax."

"Excellent," she said. "Now we won't have to make excuses for you missing

those meetings, will we? Hmm?"

"N-no, Miss Valerie."

* * * * * * * * *

The following Monday, Valerie arrived at the office to find George sitting

at the secretary's desk in the reception area, a despondent expression on his

face.

"Did you have difficulty getting into the office?" she asked.

"Yes, Miss Valerie," he mumbled, his voice distant and indifferent-sounding.

"I had the locks changed over the weekend. From now on, you can sit there

at my desk until I arrive to let you in."

"Yes, Miss Valerie," he sighed.

"Did you make the coffee yet?" she asked.

His eyes flew open. "Coffee?"

She stood in the now opened entrance to the executive office. "You still

don't get it, do you, George?"

He continued to stare at the floor.

Valerie sighed, exasperated. "Get the coffee started, then come into my

office."

George was startled '*My* office?' he thought. 'Wha - ?' But, he followed

her instructions and prepared the coffeemaker. Then he entered the executive

office. Valerie was seated at her desk.

"Well, sweetie, did you have a nice weekend?" she asked.

"M-Miss Valerie," George began. "M-my pay was c-cut by twenty percent

this p-pay period."

"Yes, I know," she quickly replied. "Expenses. You understand?"

He let out a breath. "B-but, that's a lot of money, M-Miss - "

She waved her hand at him. "You have incurred many debts in the past

several weeks," she said, coldly. "Those debts have to be repaid."

He shrugged his shoulders, defeated. "Yes, Miss Valerie."

"Now, go see if my coffee is ready, and get yourself a cup of water so

you can take your pill."

"Yes, Miss Valerie." George crossed the office, returning a few minutes

later with a cup of coffee in one hand, and a small paper cup full of water

in the other.

Valerie brightened. "Why, thank you, sweetums. Now, here's your pill."

George swallowed the tablet.

Valerie said, "Now, I asked you, did you have a nice weekend?"

George stared at his feet. "No, Miss Valerie, I had a horrible weekend,"

he said. "Miriam and I had a terrible argument."

Valerie sat back in her chair, a smile on her face. "Oh? What about?"

"Well," he said in a low voice, almost a whisper. "All week long I

managed to avoid her, so she wouldn't discover what I'd done to my legs.

Well, Friday night, after we'd had dinner, she wanted to make love with

me in the living room. I had to pretend I had a headache, so she wouldn't

undress me on the couch. Then, when bedtime rolled around, I was so frightened

she would discover my secret, I pretended to fall asleep on the couch. I had

covered up my feet with a blanket, and when she came to wake me to get me

into bed, I snapped at her when she tried to remove the blanket. The result

is she went back to bed and locked the door." He concluded, his voice beginning

to break, "She hasn't spoken to me since."

Valerie, sipping on her coffee, made a sympathetic clucking sound. "Oh,

sweetie-pie. I'm so sorry you're having all this trouble at home. Perhaps

I should have a talk with Miriam, you know, explain things to her."

George's head flew up and he stared wide-eyed at Valerie. "Oh, no, Miss

Valerie," he cried. "Oh, please don't. I don't know what that'll do to our

marriage. Please don't."

Valerie appeared confused. "But, if she knows, perhaps she'll be

sympathetic. Then you won't have to feel the need to sneak around her any

more. Why don't I call her right now?" She reached for the phone.

George broke down in tears. "Oh, please, don't, Miss Valerie," he begged.

"I'll do anything. Anything. Please don't call her." He covered his face

with his hands, sobbing loudly. Valerie stood up, walked around the desk

and placed her arm around his shoulder. She led him back to her chair, and

instructed him to kneel beside her. Sobbing loudly, completely broken, he

complied. She reached into a tissue box on the desk, and handed him several

sheets to wipe away his tears. Gradually, he calmed down, and Valerie gently

ran her fingers through his hair, offering him her comfort.

"There, there," she cooed. "You've had a difficult time these past few

weeks. I know. It's alright. Believe me. Everything is going to be alright."

When he seemed to have finished crying, Valerie smiled and said, "I have

some good news for you, Georgie. Your private retirement fund is growing by

leaps and bounds. You now have a balance of $50,000 in it."

This wasn't good news at all to George. Things were just getting worse and

worse. Valerie continued to stroke his hair, and gently pulled his head

forward until it was resting on her thigh. She leaned over and murmured in

his ear, "Lift my skirt, sweetie." George looked up for a second, confused.

Then, realizing he no longer had a choice in anything relating to Valerie,

he slowly pushed her skirt up until it was bunched around her waist. Again,

she leaned over him and said, softly, "Now pull down my panties, you naughty

boy." Slowly, he grasped the waistband of her panties and tugged them down

until they lay in a small satiny pool at her feet. She grasped the sides of

his head and pulled him into her crotch until his face was inches from her

vaginal lair. She exuded a musky odor that excited George's nostrils.

"Do me, Georgie," she said, and spread her legs apart. George hesitated for

just a moment, then stuck his tongue out to tentatively lick the soft outside

of her pussy. She gasped softly as his tongue touched her labia, and he began

shyly to explore the inner walls of her pussy. She was rapidly moistening;

a clear, syrupy substance began to drip from her hole, and George licked

it hungrily. Her grip on his head tightened and she pulled him hard into

her crotch. He began now to lick and suck her pussy in earnest, growing

bolder as she grew hotter and wetter. Her legs tightened around his head and

her hands moved to the top, grabbing his hair and pulling hard. He didn't

feel any pain, however. All he felt was the warm, rubbery inside of her hole

as he pushed his tongue as far inside her as he could. He then pulled it back

out and began probing for her clitoris, sighing as she gasped when he finally

located it. He licked around it, then caught it in his lips, kissing it and

rubbing his lips around it. Valerie was groaning loudly, and breathing heavily.

George could sense she was nearing a climax. The actions of his tongue and

lips grew more manic. It was as though he wanted them to touch every part of

her vagina at once. He burrowed in as deeply as he could. It was becoming more

difficult to breathe, but he paid no attention to his own discomfort. This

pussy was so delicious, so delightful, he didn't care if he ever breathed

again. Then, finally, with a loud sigh, almost a scream, she came. Frantically,

he licked her juice as it flowed out of her and smeared all over his face.

He kissed, licked, licked, kissed. He couldn't get enough of this marvelous

woman's fantastic cunt.

But, then it was over. She released her grip on his head, and he pulled

away from her entrance, gulping air into his lungs. She sighed, leaned back

in her chair, and relaxed. When she had finally composed herself, she

ordered George to clean her up. Gently, he kissed and licked all the juice

away, softly blowing warm air over the surface of her pussy to dry her off.

When he had finished, she ordered him to replace her panties and readjust

her skirt. The room grew quiet. Suddenly, Valerie grabbed a handful of the

kneeling George's hair. "Hey," she said, "you haven't done yourself this

morning. We can't allow that. Come on, get to it."

She yanked on his hair, pulling him painfully to his feet. Then she

pushed him toward the front of the desk, where she had him lower his

trousers and masturbate for her. He had become so aroused that it took

very little time for him to climax, filling his panties with what felt like

an enormous bucket of cum. As had by now become the routine, she had him

lick as much of the sperm as he could scrape out of his panties and off

his penis and balls. When she was satisfied he had thoroughly cleaned

himself, she had him return to his desk in the corner to complete filing

the folders and sorting the correspondence. She then took the Engineering

Division report from her desk, and left the office without a word.

* * * * * * * * *

A couple of weeks later, near the end of the day, Valerie called him

over to her desk. He stood at his usual position of attention. She mentioned

to him that he had seemed distracted all day, and hadn't been doing a good

job at all typing the reports she'd given him.

"Is there some problem you want to share, sweetums?" she asked.

"It's, it's Miriam, Miss Valerie," he began, speaking in a quiet murmur.

"She and I have been arguing lately."

Valerie appeared interested. "Oh? What about?"

George continued. "Well, I didn't know how else to cover up my shaved

legs, so I bought some pajamas. Miriam thought that was weird, but didn't

say anything until the first time I wore them and we went to bed and she

wanted to make love."

"How would your wearing pajamas to bed cause a fight?"

"Well, Miss Valerie, she wanted me to take off the bottoms before she'd

let me get inside her. And I refused."

"Ah, ha. I see. What did she do when you refused?"

"She rolled over and wouldn't let me touch her." His eyes drifted

downward until he was staring at the carpet. His cheeks were beginning

to redden a little. "Lately, we haven't been talking to each other. In

fact, lately, she's been working late or joining friends for dinner at

a restaurant. We hardly see each other anymore." His lips began quivering.

"I-I'm a-a-afraid sh-she might be s-s-seeing s-someone," he gasped, and

began crying.

When he had calmed down a little, Valerie stared silently at him for a

long while. Then she said in an icy tone, "I told you before, crybaby, your

wife is of no concern to me. How you two handle your problems is strictly

between you."

George wiped the tears that were spilling out of his eyes and down his

cheeks.

"That reminds me," said Valerie. "Before I go, here's your third pill

for today. Be a good boy, now, and take it." She handed the pill across

the desk to him. He scooped it into his mouth and swallowed it between

sobs.

The next morning, Valerie arrived to find George sitting silently

in the secretary's chair in the outer office, glumly staring at the top

of the empty desk. She unlocked the door to her executive office and

entered. George followed, head down. He walked over to his customary place

and stood quietly at attention.

Valerie went around her desk and took a seat. "Out with it, sweetums.

What's the problem?"

George stared at the floor. "S-she didn't c-come home l-last night, Miss

Valerie," he said, softly.

"Oh?"

"She called and left a message she was going out to dinner with a friend."

"Has she ever done this before? Stayed out all night?"

"No, Miss Valerie."

"Hmm. Interesting." She looked at George. "Well, as I said, it's no concern

of mine." She began looking at the small stack of papers in front of her,

placed there the night before by George. "Where's my coffee?" she asked.

"I made some when I came in," said George. "Would you like a cup now, Miss

Valerie?"

"Of course, silly. Why else would I ask?"

George hurried to the door, returning a minute later with Valerie's cup of

coffee. She took a sip, savoring the flavor, and said, "You know, Georgie,

sweetie, I like our new arrangement. You make much better coffee than I did."

She gazed at him as he stood at relaxed attention, eyes cast downward.

"Georgie, babykins," she said. "I think you know the routine by now, don't

you? I don't have to remind you every morning what your responsibilities are,

do I?"

"No, Miss Valerie."

"Well, then..."

George nodded silently. He reached down to his belt buckle, and undid it,

lowering the zipper of his fly at the same time. He tugged his trousers down

over his hips, and let them slide down his stockinged legs. He grasped the

waistband of his panties and began to pull them down, at the same time

reaching in with his other hand to free his penis to begin his masturbation

routine.

Valerie held up her hand. "Wait a minute, sweetie. We're going to change

the program. I'm not interested in seeing your ugly old teeny weenie flopping

around in your hand every morning, shooting cream all over my nice carpet.

From now on, you keep it inside your panties and just rub yourself to orgasm.

But keep your hands outside your panties. Got it?"

George flushed. "Yes, Miss Valerie." He knew this would take longer and

be even more humiliating than simply quickly stroking himself off. But, she

had commanded, and he had to obey. Using both hands, he began rubbing up

and down the length of his penis which, as Valerie could see through the

sheer material, was becoming harder and longer. As he rubbed, occasionally

he would alternate, rubbing upwards with one hand and downwards with the

other. This seemed to produce real friction, exciting him to a true erection.

The soft, smooth feel of the nylon panties also added to his growing

excitement. Soon he found himself breathing heavily, and although it was

embarrassing to have to expose himself in this way to the woman seated before

him, he closed his eyes and tried to block her out of his mind. Slowly, he

could sense the crisis approaching. Faster and harder he rubbed, until he

thought he would surely rub the skin right off his penis. Then, blessed

relief. He clenched his thighs together, and rubbed frantically, feeling

the wet, sticky warmth growing and spreading inside his panties. His eyes

were tightly shut now, his tongue darting in and out of his mouth as he

urged himself to drain all the cum he could from within himself.

The crisis passed. George's knees were trembling slightly in response to

the intensity of the orgasm. He pulled the waistband of his panties away

from his tummy, inserted the index finger of his other hand, and scooped up

a glob of sperm. Eyes still closed, he stuck his finger in his mouth and

began to lick. Over the weeks, he'd grown used to the hot, salty taste of

his cum, had grown to enjoy it, almost. He would never admit something so

shameful as that to Valerie, but it was true. Trying not to betray himself,

he continued slowly, wanting to appear reluctant to suck the hot cream from

his finger. When he was finished, he carefully pulled his trousers back up,

tucked in his shirt, buckled his belt, and resumed his position of attention.

"You really enjoy this, don't you?" said Valerie.

"N-no, no, Miss Valerie. Not at all."

"Bullshit. You like the taste of your cum, too," she laughed. "I can tell."

George's face flamed red.

She gave him his morning dose of estrogen, then spent the next several

hours with him, being briefed on some tricky contract clauses that the

company wanted her to renegotiate. Finally, she placed the necessary reports

and graphs in her briefcase, and left, but not before instructing George

in some routine filing chores she needed done.

* * * * * * * * *

For the next few weeks, George's despondency increased. Each day Valerie

probed a little deeper into the state of his relationship with Miriam. It was

clearly deterioriating. Miriam was spending more and more time away from

home, "entertaining clients," "visiting work sites," and any other number

of excuses she could think of to remain away for days at a time.

George entered the reception area of the office, and took down the

coffee pot to fill it with water. He carried it down the hall to the

men's room, where he filled it up. Then he returned to the outer office

and poured the water into the pot. He filled the filter with a few scoops

of coffee, set the filter cup in place, and turned on the machine. He

unlocked the door to Valerie's office (his old office), then walked to

the small desk and sat down facing the wall, with his bottom on the front

half of the typist's chair, his knees closed together and his back ramrod

straight. He folded his hands and rested them in his lap. Valerie had

been expanding her instructions in the proper demeanor for every occasion.

Some time later (George didn't know how long it had been; there was

no clock in the office, and he, at Valerie's insistence, no longer wore

a watch), Valerie entered the office and without a word to George, walked

directly to her desk and sat down. George immediately stood and went out

to the outer office to pour Valerie a cup of coffee. He returned to the

inner office with her cup, quietly locking the door as he entered. He

crossed the floor to her desk, placed the coffee before her, then stepped

back to stand at his attention position.

Without a word being spoken, he released his belt, lowered his

trousers down his stockinged legs, and began rubbing himself to orgasm.

Several minutes later, he came, ate what cum he could capture from the

panties, replaced his trousers and resumed his attention position. Without

looking up, Valerie reached into her purse, pulled out the bottle of

estrogen pills, removed one and handed it to him. He quickly swallowed it,

then waited quietly for her instructions.

Finally, she graced him with a glance. "Good morning, sweetie-kins. Did

you sleep well last night?"

"No, Miss Valerie," George pouted.

"Oh, and what was the problem?" she asked, seeming genuinely concerned.

"Miriam stayed out all night again, Miss Valerie," he said, softly.

"This is the third night in a row." His eyes began to mist. "I-I d-don't

even k-know where she's g-gone." He dabbed at his eyes as tears began to

spill over onto his cheeks.

Biting her tongue to keep from shouting with laughter, Valerie stood up

and walked around the desk, reaching her arms out to George in a warm, loving

embrace. After a moment, she led him gently around to her side of the desk.

She sat down in her chair and patted her lap, indicating George should sit

there. As he slid onto her lap, she continued to hold him in her embrace,

cooing, "There, there, now. It's ok. It's ok. You just go ahead and have a

good cry." His head was leaning on her shoulder, his face touching her

generous breast. He cried into her dress, wiping the tears as fast as he

could as Valerie handed him one tissue after another.

After several minutes had passed, he seemed to calm down. Valerie offered

him a sip of water from his small paper cup. She continued to embrace him

gently and to coo in his ear, which had the effect she had desired. George

seemed to be relaxing a little and eventually he stopped crying altogether.

"There, now, little Georgie-kins," murmured Valerie. "Everything's alright

now. Everything's going to be fine. Just wait and see."

George thanked her for the water, then stood up to return to his by now

accepted and customary position. Valerie had been preparing a report for

an important meeting she had scheduled with the Engineering Division, and

she asked George to type it up. She knew he was a terrible typist, and would

take forever to do the job. But it didn't matter. She'd prepared her own

final copy over the weekend. This was just to give him something to do,

something to help him practice his elementary typing skills.

Gradually, over the past few weeks, she had been using him more and more

in a subordinate capacity, relying on his expertise and his knowledge of the

inner workings of Humboldt Manufacturing to boost her own ratings, until

finally she had begun replacing him at meetings ("George is just so busy

with other matters right now. Goodness, he's a busy man!" she would offer

as his excuse.) He knew exactly what Valerie was doing; but, and this

was the delicious part of it as far as she was concerned, he was in no

position at all to complain. He couldn't even refuse to cooperate with her;

if he did, and he tried a few times, her hand would reach for the telephone.

He'd begun having nightmares lately about that hand and that telephone and

the ringing of phones on the desks of the authorities. He was trapped, and he

knew it. His only hope was to ingratiate himself to her, to play on her decency

and sense of fair play. In the meantime, the level of his responsibilities in

the office continued to diminish. He was slowly being reduced to the status

of file clerk, or worse.

The morning passed quietly enough for George. He struggled away at typing

the report for Valerie, and sipped coffee, and thought about the mess he'd

gotten himself into. It was the sort of day he'd been having lately.

Finally, about noon, Valerie returned from her meeting and dismissed him to

go to lunch. Lately, George had been going down to the lobby to the small

sandwich shop, buying a sandwich and bringing it back up to the office.

He was fearful of being caught in his feminine undergarments, so he avoided

other people as much as possible.

He bought his sandwich and returned to the office, using the stairs

instead of the elevator (the office was only two flights up). After he

had made a fresh pot of coffee, he sat down at his desk, bottom on the

front half of his chair, unfolded the sandwich and quietly began eating.

Suddenly the door opened, and Valerie entered. There was someone with

her. George peeked out of the side of his eye. It was Miriam! And she was

with some man! George was dumbstruck. He started to turn in his chair, but

noticed Valerie glowering at him. Shamefaced with cowardice, George turned

toward the wall and stared at his desktop.

"Well, Miriam," said Valerie in a hearty, friendly voice. "It's been a

long time. How have you been?"

"I've been wonderful, Valerie," answered Miriam, just as heartily. "My

new career is skyrocketing. I'm getting so many requests for my services I

can't find enough time to fill them all. In fact, I'm on my way to a lunch

date right now. But I wanted to stop in to see you about that matter we

discussed a few weeks ago."

George's ears perked up. What had she and Valerie discussed a few weeks

ago? What was going on here?

Valerie reached into her desk and pulled out an envelope. "Here it is,

Miriam. A check for $10,000. That's all there was in the account. I hope

that will prove satisfactory."

Miriam took the envelope and held it in front of her with both hands.

"You know, Valerie," she said. "The way things have been going lately,

I really don't need this. But, there's something really satisfying about

having it. Don't you think so?"

Valerie said, "I certainly do. That's why I made the offer to you in

the first place."

The two women laughed. Then Miriam leaned over and kissed Valerie on

the cheek. "Well, you've been wonderful," she said. "And as I said, you're

welcome to him. I hope he won't be too much trouble."

What the hell were they talking about?

Valerie chuckled. "I'm enjoying every minute of this, Miriam. Believe me."

Miriam said, "Oh, by the way. This is my friend, Tom. Well, actually,

Tom and I have become lovers - "

What!? Lovers!?

Valerie exclaimed, "Oh, Miriam! Congratulations! Tom! I'm so pleased for

you both!"

Lovers!?

George's ears were on fire.

Miriam said, "Well, gotta run. You're sure this $10,000 will never be

traced."

Valerie nodded. "Not a chance. Cash it and enjoy it. George certainly

has worked hard enough for it."

The two women laughed again, Tom joining in with a deep, confident,

masculine chuckle. Miriam looped her arm in his and turned to leave. She

spotted George sitting in his typist's chair, head down, tears rolling

down his cheeks. She walked over to him and leaned over to whisper in his

ear. "George," she said in a whisper loud enough to be heard by everyone

in the room. "You really are a sissy. Do you know that? Well, if you didn't

know it before now, you soon will. Enjoy yourself, ok?" And straightening

up, she turned to Valerie, blew her a goodbye kiss, and left with Tom in tow.

George sank down to his knees and began sobbing. All the pent-up emotions

of the past few weeks, not to mention the inordinate amount of estrogen he'd

been absorbing, finally caught up with him, and he simply broke down into a

lump of humanity, crying and weeping in a primal way. He beat the floor with

his hands, he kicked and thrashed blindly about. His tantrum was like

nothing Valerie had seen before. But, it finally ended. One can weep and

wail for only so long before becoming exhausted. Valerie quietly waited for

George to finish. "I may as well go to jail now," he cried to Valerie.

"My life is over. Without Miriam, there is nothing left."

When he had finally grown quiet, Valerie stooped down and helped him to

his feet. Then she had him bring his chair over to her desk so he could sit

facing her. She went behind her desk and sat down.

"George," she began in a quiet, even tone. "You will survive. I won't let

you be destroyed, and I won't let you destroy yourself. Right now, you are

devastated by the loss of your wife. Who wouldn't be? But, you know, let me

tell you, had you chosen jail, you still would have lost her. Instead of

being a sissy in her eyes, you would have been a jailbird. Either way,

you would have been an embarrassment to her, an impediment, an obstacle to

her own success. I truly believe her love for you was so shallow it would

never have survived any real crisis."

"I don't care," George moaned. "Without her, life is not worth living."

"You may feel that way right now," said Valerie. "But I think you're

wrong. You know, I survived my husband's desertion. And I'm going to see that

you survive Miriam's."

Later that evening, Valerie opened the door to her apartment, and gently

pushed George inside. He was tipsy, giggling hysterically over some joke

she had told him during the elevator ride to her floor. After George had

finally calmed down, he had let Valerie bundle him into a cab and take him

to dinner. They had never quite made it to dinner, though. While waiting

for a table, they had sat at the bar drinking and talking, George doing

most of it, at first mourning his loss of Miriam. Then, responding to

Valerie's quiet sympathy and encouragement, he had begun finally to relax

a little, and after a few drinks had grown giggly, on the verge of hysteria.

Valerie knew that George was on the edge of breaking down completely at

any moment. So she deftly maneuvered him out of the restaurant, into a cab,

and back to her apartment.

After they had entered and removed their coats, Valerie led George to

the sofa, then offered him a drink. Still giggling over Valerie's joke,

he accepted. She returned with a tumbler of bourbon on ice for each of

them, and for a few moments, they sat quietly sipping their drinks.

Finally, Valerie spoke, "You know, Georgie-kins, you have some very special

qualities that I don't think Miriam ever appreciated. But I certainly do."

George looked at her carefully, trying to gauge whether she was putting

him on. "Like what, uh, Miss Valerie?"

"Well, first, let me say that for all your bravado and bluster at the

office, I think deep down inside you are a very sensitive person. You're

a feeling person, sweetums. The problem with you is that you've kept that

part of you bottled up inside all these years."

He said, "I don't exactly understand what you mean. I'm just me. I think

I've always been just me." His eyes began to mist. "Except these past few

weeks. I can't figure out how all this trouble began or how I've gotten myself

into the mess I'm in. I feel like I'm living someone's worst nightmare."

Valerie looked deeply into his eyes. "You've been under a terrible strain,

I know, snookums. You need a real rest. C'mon, let me put you to bed."

She set her drink down on the coffee table in front of the sofa and stood

up. Then she reached over and gently took George's hand. He stood, a little

shakily, and followed her into the bedroom. She guided him to the edge of

the bed, and gently pushed him down on it.

"Here, sweetie," she said. "Let me help you undress."

George giggled nervously, but offered no resistance.

Quickly, but gently, Valerie helped him remove his clothes. When he was

naked, she led him into the bathroom. "Let's get you into the shower. A

nice hot shower will do wonders for you." She turned on the water, and

helped him into the tub. Then, she stepped back and quickly undressed herself.

George's eyes opened wide in surprise. "Are, are you - ?" he stammered.

"What's the problem, Georgie," she smiled. "haven't you ever seen a naked

lady before?" She picked up the bar of soap from the soapdish and began

lathering his chest and arms.

He giggled, then looked very serious. "You're really a beautiful woman,

Miss Valerie," he said, softly.

She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "Hurry up, dear," she

whispered. "I have a nice warm bed waiting for you."

She stepped out of the tub and dried herself off. As he completed bathing,

she went into the bedroom, put on a sheer nightgown, brushed her hair, and

climbed into her bed. A few minutes later, George emerged from the bathroom,

a towel wrapped around his waist.

Valerie reached her arms out to him and said, "Put the towel back in the

bathroom, sweetie. Miss Valerie has something much nicer for you to wear to

bed." Quickly, he returned the towel to the bathroom, then, naked, bustled

across the room to the bed. Valerie was holding the covers up so he could

slip in beside her. On his pillow lay a peach-colored nightgown so transparent

it was almost invisible.

"Wh-what's this?" he asked, surprised.

"This is for you, my sweet darling boy," cooed Valerie. "Come on. Put it

on and get into bed. I'm freezing."

"B-but -" he began.

Valerie reached over to her night table and lifted the phone. In a teasing

tone of voice, she said, smiling, "Do I have to call the auditors?"

George realized he had no choice, anyway, so why not be a good sport about

it? Giggling a little, he said, "Well, if I must," and slipped the nighty

over his head. He shivered a little as it fell over him; it was so soft,

so silky. He turned to face Valerie. Her expression was serious as she returned

his look. "The gown suits you, Georgie," she whispered. "It really does."

She reached her arm out and hooked it around his neck, drawing him down to

her face. Softly, she kissed his cheek, his eyelids, his ears. She placed

her tongue in his ear, softly brushing it back and forth. A thrill ran through

him, causing him to shiver a bit. She whispered, "Remember? I said I was going

to own you? Watch what happens now."

He tensed slightly, uncertain of what she meant. But nothing happened. She

continued to kiss and nibble his ear, exciting him, causing his penis to begin

to stiffen. Her hand reached down to gently rub his rapidly growing cock.

"Hmm. We'll have to do something about this, won't we Georgie-dear?" She

murmured.

His breathing was becoming rapid and uneven. He felt Valerie's hand begin

to apply pressure to the back of his head. Slowly, she nudged him down to

her breasts. They took his breath away. So soft, so bounteous, so milky-white.

He wanted to lay his head on those breasts, those soft, downy pillows. He

wanted to sleep on them forever. But her hand continued to guide him downward.

His lips were now brushing across her bellybutton, past her tummy. He knew

where she wanted him to go, and he was growing more excited in anticipation.

Her thick bush tickled his chin, and he paused to kiss it, and lick the dewy

moistness that had formed in her soft nest of orange-red hair. He wanted to

linger forever, lost in her warmth; but, her hand pressed on him and he

descended further. Now her legs slowly spread, and the heated gash opened

before him. It was perfect. Never before, drunk or sober, had George seen such

an inviting cunt. Suddenly emboldened, he thrust his face against it, opening

his mouth as wide as he could, wanting to cover her entire pussy with his kiss.

She was so hot and wet he felt as if steam were flowing from inside her. He

wanted to crawl inside, to be carried up to her womb, to be warm and safe

forever. Oh, how he loved being buried in this pit! His tongue found her

opening, and he thrust it inside, wiggling it around as rapidly as he could.

Above him, he could hear Valerie moaning as he licked first one wall, then

the other. He found the hood, and the little protrusion beneath it. Lovingly,

carefully, he lavished all his attention on it. Slowly, he would lick around

it, then dab at it softly, then lick some more. Her groans were increasing

in intensity and loudness. Her fingers now held his hair in a vise-like grip.

He was giddy with joy. He felt no pain. His nose sensed her growing

excitement. As her juice flowed from her pussy, a musky, hot odor invaded his

nostrils, nearly overwhelming him with its power. Ah, how he delighted in it!

He could sense her crisis approaching, and he wanted to bring her to the

pinnacle of joy. His fingers sought her labia, and spread them as far apart

as he could, to open up as much of her to his tongue as possible. She was

writhing on the bed now, her legs fastened to his head, squeezing together,

nearly squashing him between them. He didn't care. She was in a frenzy of

his making, and he was ecstatic. He ran his tongue up and down, around and

around, jamming his face as hard into her as he could, his nose buried in

her bush, nearly fainting from lack of air.

Then, finally, she stiffened, cried out, ripped at his hair, pinned his

ears to his head, and began to buck up and down on the mattress, rolling

back and forth in orgasmic fury. George was helpless beneath her frenzied

contortions. But he didn't care. He had brought this beautiful woman to this

point, this strong, wonderful, powerful female was now sobbing in lustful

ecstasy because of him, George Novala. He began to sob with joy.

When it was all over, when they were relaxing in each other's arms, on

the verge of sleep, Valerie leaned over and kissed George's cheek. He looked

up at her smiling face. "You're going to be very good to me, George. I can

tell." She kissed him again, rolled over so her back was to him, and reached

her arm out to turn off the light. She then reached behind her, took his

hand and guided it to her crotch, sighed and fell fast asleep.

* * * * * * * * *

When George awoke the next morning, Valerie had already left the apartment.

As he stumbled into the bathroom to relieve himself, he saw a note sitting on

the edge of the sink. After he had peed and washed his hands, he picked it up.

The note read: "Hurry up, sleepyhead. You don't want to be late for work.

There's a razor and toothbrush on the sink. You'll have to wear yesterday's

clothes. Miss V."

George looked at his watch. 'Holy shit,' he thought. 'It's almost eight

o'clock. I've got to hurry.' Quickly, he showered, shaved, brushed his teeth,

dressed and left the apartment.

When he arrived at the office, he noticed the coffee had already been

made, and it looked as if a couple of cups had already been poured.

"I'm later than I thought," he muttered to himself. Quickly, quietly, he

stepped into Valerie's (this is how he now thought of it) office. It was

empty. He walked over to the small typist's desk he now regarded as his own,

and saw Valerie had left a note on it. He picked it up. It said, "Georgie.

Something is seriously wrong. I don't know what it is, but I've been called

to a meeting with the Board of Directors. Take your pill. Finish your

typing. Miss V."

George's stomach fluttered. He had a sinking feeling he knew what was

wrong. He was sure what the outcome would be. Trembling in anticipation of

a knock on the door and the arrival of the police, he tried to concentrate

on his work. It was impossible. All he could think about was that his life,

at least the life he'd lived until now, was about to come to a crashing end.

He pictured himself standing in a prison cell, thin, pasty, forlorn. His

eyes filled with tears. He put his head down and wept.

The door suddenly opened and Valerie appeared. George lifted his head

from the desk, looking at her through a film of tears. She summoned him

to follow her, then briskly walked to her desk and sat down. George stood

at attention before her.

She looked him squarely in the eye. "The shit has hit the fan," she

said. "The auditor was reconciling some budget imbalances, and discovered

the shortage. But something is really screwed up, George. They think

$100,000 is missing, not $10,000. Were you siphoning other money off

besides the transfers I discovered?"

George nearly passed out. "What?" he cried. "$100,000? But, that can't

be! That's not possible! Oh, no! What am I going to do?"

Valerie held up her hand. "Calm down, crybaby. They don't know anything

about you or your little scheme. They only know the money is gone. To tell

you the truth, I don't think you have anything to worry about. The other

day, I heard that the auditor was going to be examining the books, so

I closed off the pipeline to that phony account you had set up, and I hid

all transactions with that account in such a way that I don't think they'll

ever discover them."

George wanted to fall on his knees and kiss Valerie's feet. "Oh, Miss

Valerie," he cried. "Oh, thank god. You mean I might not get caught?"

"That's right. Unless you stupidly blurt out the truth. But, I have to

tell you, in order to cover your tracks for you, I had to return the

$10,000 you stole. I know it's going to complicate things, because when

they resume their investigation, they're going to find it's been replaced.

Suspicion is going to fall on you, or at least on your area of operations,

because they'll see a slightly different set of numbers coming from here.

But, with another $90,000 missing, I don't think they'll worry too much

about a reconciliation of $10,000, especially since I spread the money

over several contracts you've been handling. In the meantime, though, my

little Georgie, you're going to have to be extremely careful."

"What should I do?" he cried, eyes filling with tears.

"You just keep your mouth shut and let me handle this. Your future is

literally in my hands now, Georgie-kins. Last night I teased you about how I

was going to own you. I've got to tell you that this is closer to reality

than either of us might realize."

George's shoulders slumped in despair. "Yes, Miss Valerie," he mumbled.

Just then, the phone rang, startling George so that he gave a little

jump. Valerie quickly picked it up. She listened for a few seconds, said,

"He'll be right there," then hung up. She looked up into George's eyes.

"The president wants to see you in his office right away."

The color drained from his cheeks. His teeth chattered and his lips

trembled. "Oh, no. Oh, no. What do I do?"

Valerie said, "Well, you get yourself down to his office right away.

Then play dumb. Don't give anything away. If they accuse you of any

wrongdoing, deny it. But don't lie to them. Just deny and shut up."

George's hands were shaking. He put them in his pockets to try to control

them. Without another word, he turned and left the office.

An hour passed. Two hours. Valerie sat at her desk trying to study a

financial report which had come in from one of the research labs. It was

hard to concentrate. This was the one moment in her plan over which she had

no control. In order to divert attention from George's embezzlement, she

had juggled the books to indicate a balance $100,000 greater than actually

existed. She then had "embezzled" the fictitious money. She knew this would

draw the attention of the auditors, and they would focus on this, hopefully

overlooking the little manipulations she had done long ago to cover up

George's real embezzlement.

She wondered what was happening to George. Were they giving him a hard time?

Was he remaining calm? If he broke down and confessed, an investigation might

reveal her own machinations and they both could end up in jail. She was

confident she had covered her own tracks too well to be uncovered. But, if

George broke, he still might implicate her by revealing her awareness of his

wrongdoing.

Valerie didn't think she would end up in jail, though. After all, she was

still technically only a secretary. Isn't a secretary supposed to be loyal

to her boss? Of course, it was well known by management that she had been

handling George's job for the past several weeks. Still, she doubted they

would hold her responsible for this mess. Anyway, so what if they did include

her in the blame? Probably the worst that would happen to her would be that

she would be fired. She could easily find another job. After all, she was a

survivor, wasn't she?

Finally, she heard a noise and looked up to see the doorknob turning;

the door swung open and George entered, his face ashen, his hands trembling.

He slowly crossed the floor to stand at attention in front of her desk.

"How did it go?" she asked. "What happened?"

His voice was barely above a whisper. "I've been fired."

"Did they give a reason?"

She could see he'd been crying. His eyes were red and his cheeks splotched

with crimson patches.

"They said I should have known about the money being removed. They said

I wasn't doing my job properly. All those meetings I've missed. All those

reports you've been presenting in my place. They think I'm breaking under the

stress."

"But they didn't accuse you of stealing the money?"

"No. At least it didn't come up in this conversation. They just accused

me of incompetence." He paused, then shifted his eyes to the floor, and

said in a voice just above a whisper, "And, uhm, well, something else

happened, too."

Valerie was suddenly alert. "Like what?" she asked.

"I was fidgeting in my seat while they were questioning me. I was nervous.

Anyway, one of the vice-presidents was in the room, and he happened to glance

down and saw, uhh, well, he saw my stockings." George's face was a study of

guilt and shame.

Valerie almost burst into laughter. "What did he say?"

"Well, that's when they talked about me losing my grip. They said I must

be cracking up."

"How did you respond to that?"

"I tried to deny it," he said. "But, then, they pointed to my feet and

asked how I was going to explain the stockings."

Valerie was losing the battle to keep from laughing. She snorted a little.

"Did you try?"

"I tried, but I got all mixed-up and embarrassed. Then I started crying.

It was awful."

"I bet," Valerie said, smiling. "So then they fired you, huh?"

"Oh, Miss Valerie," he wailed. "What am I going to do? Where am I going to

go? What's going to become of me?"

"Now, now, sweetie," she soothed. "Don't worry. Like I said yesterday, you

just depend on me, and I'll see everything comes out alright."

She handed him a tissue to wipe his eyes and blow his nose. The phone rang

and she picked it up. She said, "Yes, of course. I'll be right there." She

replaced the phone and looked at George. "Now, listen, Georgie. That was

the president's secretary. The president wants to see me in his office

immediately. You just sit over there at your desk and wait for me. Ok?"

George nodded, and walked over to the typist's desk. He sat down, a

forlorn, pitiable expression on his face. As Valerie passed him on her way to

the door, she reached over, patted him on the cheek, and cooed, "It's ok,

baby-poo. Don't worry."

Then she was gone.

* * * * * * * * *

Another hour passed. George had finished crying. He simply ran out of tears.

There was nothing left for him to do but clean his personal effects out of his

desk drawers, and wait for Valerie to return.

Finally, the door opened and she stepped into the office. She was smiling

broadly. "Well, George," she said enthusiastically. "The day isn't a total

loss. I've just been promoted!"

He looked up at her, eyes wide. "Where are you being assigned?" he asked.

She positively beamed at him. "Right here! They've given me your job!"

George looked devastated.

"Well," she explained. "Actually, it's only temporary. But they've been so

impressed lately with the way I've taken charge here during your recent, ahem,

breakdown, that they want to try me out to see if I can handle it. Isn't

that wonderful?"

George's lips were moving, but no sound came out. Finally, he muttered,

"Th-that's nice, M-Miss Valerie."

"Why thank you, sweetums!" she exclaimed, grabbing his face in her two hands

and kissing him loudly on the lips. "They've given me the afternoon off. So

come on, my dear. We are going to celebrate." She took his hand and pulled

him to his feet. She grabbed his coat and tossed it to him, then put on her

own. She pulled him through the door, locking it behind her. Then she

practically dragged him down the hall to the elevator, urging him to hurry up.

The restaurant was crowded with noontime diners, and it took a while for

Valerie and George to be seated. Valerie had asked for a table that would

accommodate three people. George wondered who else she had invited. She

offered no explanation. While they waited for their table, Valerie steered

George over to the bar. "After what you've been through this morning," she

said. "I think you certainly could use a little picker-upper."

As they sat sipping their bourbon-on-the-rocks, Valerie chatted happily

about her change of fortune, completely ignoring George's own disastrous

morning. Her enthusiasm was infectious, however; or, perhaps it was the

liquor, but George found himself smiling as Valerie recounted her meeting

with the president, and the glowing praise he had heaped upon her. Finally,

the maitre d' approached, signaling their table was now ready, and they

followed along, drinks in hand. Valerie reminded the maitre d' that they

were expecting another person and to be on the lookout for her. When they

were seated, she turned to George and said, "I've invited a dear friend to

join us for our little celebration. I think you're going to just love her."

They sat studying their menus for awhile, not talking except to discuss

the various luncheon items available, when, suddenly, a voice could be

heard above the chatter of the diners, "Valerie! Oh, darling! There you

are!"

George and Valerie both looked up at the same instant. Valerie's face

shone with joy and a smile covered her face. George, on the other hand,

was simply stunned. There before them was a vision so beautiful it took

his breath away. She stood before them wearing a bright, flowery dress, its

scooped neck allowing a peek at her delightful cleavage, a cleavage which

hinted at bountiful breasts inside the dress. Her waist was pencil-thin,

or so it seemed to George. Her hips rounded nicely into long, shapely

legs, with the hem of her dress showing her knees and a few inches above

them. She was wearing open-toed shoes with stiletto-thin heels, and her

perfectly polished toenails peeked through the opening. As she placed

her purse on the table, George noticed her long fingernails perfectly

polished in a bright red color that matched her toenails. Her fingernails

were just the right length to show off her long, delicate fingers, covered

with rings of every style. Her thin wrists were encased in gold bracelets

that jangled delightfully whenever she moved her hands. Her long, slender

neck was decorated with delicately thin gold-chain necklaces that dipped

into the valley between her breasts. Her lips were painted a bright-red

that continued the theme of her toe- and fingernails, and her eyes - ah!

her eyes! - shapely doe-eyes with perfect lashes curling just a bit.

Her ears were nicely set off by gold rings that accentuated and framed

her long oval face. Her hair, jet-black and full of curls, rested atop her

head like the crown of a queen. But what really stunned George was her

skin-tone. It was the color of the most exquisite Swiss dark-chocolate,

and was soft and moist without being oily. Altogether, she was breathtakingly

beautiful. Other men besides George were staring in open-mouthed wonder

as she took her seat between Valerie and George.

She smiled broadly as Valerie introduced her, "George, sweetie, I'd like

you to meet Patsy. Patsy does my hair and we've been friends for quite a

long while. I've been telling Patsy all about you and she wants to help in

any way she can. So I thought today would be a wonderful time to bring you

two together. And while you are getting acquainted, we can all celebrate my

wonderful news."

George took Patsy's long slender fingers in his hand, gently squeezing

them. A thrill went up his spine at Patsy's touch. 'Such exquisite hands,'

he thought. 'Skin so delightful to touch.'

Valerie interrupted his reverie. "I think this occasion calls for nothing

less than the best champagne in the house."

Patsy smiled broadly. "Why, Valerie," said the ebony beauty, "any time

I'm with you is a champagne occasion. You know that."

Valerie giggled. "Silly," she laughed. They clinked their glasses together

and silently drank. The waiter came over and took their orders. Then Valerie

turned to George. "George, sweetie," she said, "I've been talking to Patsy

recently, telling her all about your problems and all the stress and

misfortune you've had to endure. She and I agreed with each other that it's

high time for you to simply stop where you are and think about striking out

in an entirely new direction. And Patsy is just the person to help you

achieve this change."

George was a little confused, perhaps from the earlier bourbon he'd drunk,

perhaps from the champagne he was now sipping, or, more likely, from the

embarrassment at learning the private details of his life had been publicized

by this woman who had certainly been influential in his recent catastrophes.

His face beginning to flush a little, he stared at Valerie, trying to

understand what she meant. He knew there was little, if anything, he could

do to resist her.

"Patsy," continued Valerie, "has agreed to take you on as a project. I

think it's a wonderful idea, because I think Patsy can do much more to help

you than I can."

George looked at Patsy ('Gorgeous,' he thought), then looked at Valerie.

He said, "I don't understand, Va-, uhm, er, Miss Valerie. I'm not sure what

kind of help you're talking about. And how can Patsy here possibly help me?"

Valerie smiled broadly at George, took another sip of champagne, and

turned to Patsy. "Perhaps you can explain, dear," she said.

Patsy giggled. "Ok. Here, George, give me your hand."

George reached across the table, and Patsy took him by the wrist. Patsy

then placed George's hand beneath the table, underneath the hem of her

skirt. George was growing nervous. 'What's going on, here?' he thought.

His eyes were locked on Patsy's large, liquid doe-eyes. Patsy continued

sliding George's hand along her leg, to her thigh, above her thigh, until -

George's mouth flew open, his eyes were like saucers, and he snatched his

hand back as though he had just touched a white-hot object.

"Wh - ? What? A cock? Balls? What's going -"

Patsy and Valerie burst out laughing. Then Patsy said, "As you can see,

lover, I'm uniquely qualified to provide the help you need." Then turning

to Valerie, she whispered loudly, "I took off my panties in the ladies' room."

Valerie looked across the table at George, who sat trembling, speechless,

in shock. Finally, she said, her voice calm and serious, "Georgie, sweetie,

I know you're not stupid. You have many, many shortcomings, but you are not

stupid. Surely by now you've had time to think about where I've been taking

you. You must have known that panties and stockings were just the beginning."

George's face was crimson with embarrassment. He could not lift his eyes

to meet either Valerie's or Patsy's. A large tear formed in his eye, then

gently, like softly falling rain, spilled over and ran down his cheek.

Patsy reached in her purse and handed George a tissue. "You've been planning

this for a long time, haven't you?" he finally said.

Valerie said, "Ever since I caught you with your hand in the till."

George nodded, but remained silent.

Patsy leaned across the table and placed her hand on George's arm.

"One thing you need more than anything else right now is a friend," Patsy

said, softly. "Valerie knows that, whatever else I may be, I am always a

good friend. I'm going to teach you a lot of new and, I hope, exciting

things in the next few weeks. But, more than anything else, I'm going to

be your friend."

George nodded again, but continued to remain silent.

Patsy said, this time in a light, amusing tone, "Now come on, my

ginger-haired friend. Cheer up! Life's too short to mope around! Let's

drink to Valerie's promotion. Hey! Let's drink to your promotion, too!"

She and Valerie laughed, and clinked their glasses together. George

continued to stare at the table cloth, his lips trembling, his eyes wet.

Patsy reached across the table and placed her hand under George's chin.

She lifted George's face so that George could not avoid her eyes. She

smiled a warm, loving smile. "It'll be a lot nicer than you think. Believe

me, honey, I'll do all I can to make you forget all about the mess your

life has become. Now. Come on. Give Patsy a big smile. Ok? A little smile?

Just a widdle, teeny-weeny one?"

George knew he was defeated. He knew Valerie had stuffed him in this

box and she controlled the key. He could fight her right now, surrender

to the authorities, confess his embezzlement and go to prison. Or he could

submit to Valerie and go with Patsy. His mind was in turmoil. He could no

longer even decide whether to decide. He looked at Patsy's face. Her eyes

hid nothing. She seemed genuine. Whatever Valerie had in mind for George,

he felt Patsy would be a gentle accomplice. He wanted to like her. He

tried to smile, but it was hard, given his wildly fluctuating emotions.

He settled for taking Patsy's hand in his and giving it a little squeeze.

Valerie clapped her hands. "Oh, wonderful!" she exclaimed. "Now you

two can become good friends. Let's toast each other again. Oh! Here comes

our lunch. I'm famished." And she chatted on in this fashion, Patsy joining

her in enthusiastic, if idle, girl-talk. George sat quietly, eating very

little, listening to Patsy and Valerie talk, thinking how open and content

Patsy seemed to be. Someone with a secret like Patsy's shouldn't be so

happy, should they? Didn't Patsy worry about being exposed? Apparently not.

She'd shown no hesitation at all in revealing her secret to George, no shame

or guilt, either. He found himself being drawn to her, to her enthusiasm,

her laughter, her sincerity. Patsy was impossible not to like, he decided.

Even if she puzzled, indeed, frightened him. He was like a moth circling a

flaming candle. He knew he was about to be consumed. Finally, he shrugged

his shoulders, resigned to his fate. He relaxed a little and let Valerie

and Patsy set the atmosphere and the pace.

By the end of the meal, he found himself completely under Patsy's spell.

She had told him how, several years before, she had discovered she was a

"woman trapped inside a man's body." She had resolved to undergo a change,

a transformation, to become completely female. She had undergone all the

necessary surgery, all the necessary psychological therapy, everything

that she needed to do to be made a woman. But when the final step was

prepared, she found, as she said, "I couldn't part with my old friends."

So she was not fully female. She was, she told George, a she-male.

George was mesmerised. He considered himself fairly worldly, certainly in

tune with modern trends. But, this was something new to him. He knew about

transvestites and he knew about people who went through sex-changes. But

to go almost all the way and stop? Why? As Patsy had explained, for all her

desire to be transformed into a completely new person, she had learned she

just couldn't be separated from her 'old friends.'

They finished their meal on a happy note. George had completely warmed

to Patsy, and was pleased when Valerie invited her to accompany them back

to Valerie's apartment. "Only for a few minutes, though," she said. "I've

got a line of customers waiting for me."

They arrived at Valerie's apartment in a cab, and she escorted them to

the door. Once inside, she went into the kitchen and put on a pot of

coffee. She called into the living room, where George and Patsy sat on

the sofa waiting, "Georgie, this is going to be your job from now on. In

fact, this kitchen is going to be your kingdom. This is where you will

rule."

George stiffened slightly, but relaxed when Patsy reached over and

touched his hand, offering reassurance. Valerie returned to the living

room. She said, "Last night, George slept with me in my bed. Now I want

to show him his very own room." She led them down a short hall past her

bedroom. At the end of the hall was a door which opened into a small

room. Valerie stepped inside and flicked the light switch. Patsy gasped

and clapped her hands. George just gasped.

The room was done all in pink. The curtains on the only window were

a frilly pink lace. The walls were painted pink. The coverlet on the

single-width mattress was pink. A tiny rug next to the bed was pink.

The lamp on the nightstand next to the bed had a pink shade. Only the

nightstand itself, and a small dressing table and bureau were not pink.

They were white. Patsy said, "Oh, this is delightful. Valerie! It's

wonderful!" She grabbed George's arm. "Oh, sweetie! You're going to

love it here!"

Valerie said, "I've ordered a sewing machine and, see? There's a

spot for it over in that corner." She turned to George. "Patsy is an

expert seamstress. She'll teach you all about sewing. She'll have you

making your own clothes in no time at all."

George was beginning to grow more and more apprehensive. Could prison

possibly be worse? What was happening to him? Pink? Inwardly, he groaned.

Would he ever grow used to this?

Valerie opened the closet door. "Let me show you your wardrobe, sweetums,"

she said. George, followed by Patsy, crossed the room. He peeked inside the

closet. Actually, it was quite empty, except for two dresses, both cut

quite conservatively. They were the kind a woman would wear more for business

than social pleasure. There were also a couple of skirts and three or four

blouses, two of them quite sheer. On the floor were several pairs of shoes

in a variety of styles and colors. George was sweating, his collar feeling

not damp so much as soaked. Valerie smiled happily and stepped over to the

bureau. She opened the top drawer. Inside were several pairs of satiny

panties in a variety of colors, and several pairs of stockings, and a couple

of garter belts. The drawer also contained a few brassieres. They were like

the bra George was wearing, with the cups removed.

Patsy took one out and held it in her hand. "Isn't George going to have

breasts?" she asked.

Valerie said, "No."

Patsy asked, "Why not?"

Valerie said, "He doesn't deserve them."

Patsy said, "Oh."

George swallowed nervously.

Valerie closed that drawer and opened the next one. It was filled with

slips of varying lengths and styles, and a couple of camisoles of the

sort George was very familiar with. It also contained a couple of night-

gowns like the sheer peach-colored one George had worn to bed the previous

night. George's hands were trembling. To have gone from a man who had once

been a highly respected financial analyst to this - what was this, anyway?

He was lost. He had no idea where, or who, he was.

Patsy took his hand and squeezed it. She seemed to think this was all

terrific. George figured she wanted him to feel happy about what was

happening to him. Valerie led them back into the hall. Immediately outside

the door to this small bedroom was another door which opened into a small

bathroom. Inside were a narrow shower stall, a toilet and a sink with a

small vanity cupboard above it. Each of the two doors of the cupboard had

a mirror attached to them, so that, when the doors were closed, one large

mirror was there. Valerie opened the door to the cupboard. It was filled

with cosmetics and other personal items generally found in women's vanities.

Like the bedroom Valerie had just shown them, this room, too, was done

entirely in shades of pink. Valerie led them back into the hall. Directly

across from this bathroom door was a door which opened into the linen

closet. It was filled with towels, sheets and so forth.

The tour over, Valerie then proceeded back into the living room, Patsy

and George following closely behind, Patsy bouncing with energy and joy,

George straggling, looking disheveled and exhausted.

Patsy said, "Well, girlfriends, I have to dash back to the beauty

parlor. I'll be back tonight after work, and then we can get started,

George."

Valerie held up her hand. "Wait one second, Patsy. You just reminded me

of something. George."

George stammered, "Y-y-yes, M-Miss Valerie?"

She laughed. "No, I'm not talking to you. I'm just saying your name.

It's all wrong."

He looked puzzled. "All w-wrong, Miss Valerie?"

"Of course all wrong. Do you know anyone named George whose bedroom and

bathroom are all pink?" She chuckled.

Patsy picked up the ball. "That's right, George. Your name is all wrong

now. You definitely need a new name to go along with your new home and

your new friends."

George just stood looking down at the floor. But Patsy and Valerie were

serious, and they were deep in thought. Suddenly, Patsy snapped her fingers.

"I've got it!" she exclaimed. "Do you remember what I called you in the

restaurant?"

Both George and Valerie appeared mystified.

"Remember? I called you my ginger-haired friend?"

Valerie clapped her hands. "Yes! Patsy, you've saved the day! Ginger it

is. From now on, your name is Ginger. Oh, Patsy, thank you!" she exclaimed

and threw her arms around Patsy in a tight, loving hug.

George - Ginger - was overwhelmed. The reality of this surreal day finally

crashed in on him, and he understood in the most fundamental way that he no

longer belonged to himself. Valerie had promised him when she discovered his

embezzlement that she would own him. Even last night she had reminded him of

that promise. And now, at last, he understood just how true her words had

been. He was hers. There was no longer any doubt of that.

* * * * * * * * *

Patsy and Ginger were sitting on the living room floor, facing one another.

Patsy had been teaching Ginger how to file and polish his toenails. They were

deeply absorbed in Ginger's efforts to apply the polish in even strokes and

to stay within the contours of his nails. They were also absorbed in watching

Days of Our Lives, giggling like schoolgirls over the show...

It had been three weeks since George - he no longer even thought of himself

in that way anymore - had been taken into Valerie's household. At first, of

course, he had been frightened. He was convinced that at any moment the police

were going to appear at the door and take him into custody. That would be

enough to frighten anybody, he supposed. But in his case, what frightened him

more than anything else was that, the moment Patsy had left the apartment

after Valerie's guided tour of George's - Ginger's - new bedroom and bath,

Valerie had insisted that George undress completely. She had taken his

clothing, including the feminine undergarments he had worn the past several

weeks, into the kitchen where she put them in the trash can. She had then

taken the can and dumped its contents outside in the dumpster. She had then

returned to Ginger, who was still standing naked in the middle of the living

room, trembling with anxious uncertainty. She went into his bedroom and

pulled out the sheer peach-colored nightgown he had worn the night before,

walked into the living room and handed it to him. "Put this on," she had

said. "Patsy will begin teaching you how to dress properly tomorrow."

The rest of the day had been spent teaching Ginger how to operate a vacuum

cleaner and an iron. He was, of course, to be the maid as well as the cook.

Valerie had arranged with Patsy to spend each morning with Ginger, teaching

him how to dress, how to put on his makeup, how to walk in high heels, how

to make particularly feminine gestures, how to sit, stand, go up and down

stairs in a feminine way. Every aspect of female social life was covered.

Patsy was a wonderful teacher, gentle, patient, rarely critical, always

supportive. She quickly became the close, intimate friend she had promised

Ginger she would be.

Many evenings after the beauty parlor closed, she returned to enjoy dinner

with Valerie and Ginger and to spend more time in Ginger's small bedroom

teaching him the intricacies of sewing, both hand-stitching and with the

machine, which had arrived and had been set up in Ginger's room. Valerie

spent many an evening curled up on the sofa, reading a book and smiling

at the giggling and laughing emanating from the bedroom at the end of the

hall...

Patsy looked up from her examination of Ginger's toenails. They were

having fun painting each other's nails and gushing over the latest

developments on Days Of Our Lives. Patsy suddenly stared into Ginger's eyes.

"You know, I just thought of something, boy-friend," she said.

Ginger put down his brush. "What's that, girl-friend?"

Patsy smiled. "You've never sucked a cock, have you?"

Ginger's eyes grew wide. "Wh-what did you say?"

Patsy laughed. "I said, my sweet deaf friend, you've never sucked a cock,

have you?"

Ginger stared at Patsy in wide-eyed wonder.

Patsy said, "That's what I thought. Well, it's a rule, you know. You

can't really be a sissy-boy until you've sucked a cock. So, I think it's

time you learned how."

Ginger was utterly dumbstruck. "W-what k-kind of a rule is that? Who

says so?"

Patsy patted him on his faintly rouged cheek. "Me. I says so."

Silence.

"Oh, come on, Ginger-kins. I know the minute I suggested it, you looked

like you wanted to try it. I bet you've been thinking about it on your

own, huh? Haven't you? You're just too scared to admit it. Am I right?"

Ginger looked frightened. "I admit I figured someday someone would make

me do it. So, yes, I have thought about it. And, yes, I have wondered what

it would be like."

Patsy brightened. "Well, there's no time like the present to find out."

She leaned her back against the couch and, lifting her ass off the floor,

quickly removed her panties, leaving her skirt bunched up around her waist.

Her long, dark-chocolate penis dangled between her legs, her huge balls

resting beneath it. She smiled at Ginger, who remained immobile, staring

at Patsy's genitals. Patsy's voice grew husky and she said, softly, "Come

here, lover. It's gonna be ok. Believe me, baby, everything's gonna be

alright."

Ginger leaned slightly forward. Patsy reached her hands up to hold his

face, then leaned forward to kiss his soft-pink glossed lips. Ginger was

startled, especially when Patsy snaked her tongue out of her mouth and

probed Ginger's with it. Ginger had never had a tongue in his mouth, not

even Miriam's. It was a strange feeling to have this warm, moist object

sliding across his teeth, tickling the roof of his mouth. Patsy pulled her

tongue out and broke the kiss long enough to whisper, "When I put it back

in, I want you to suck it and lick it. While you're doing that, think

about my cock." She continued the kiss, again putting her tongue in Ginger's

mouth. This time, Ginger accepted it and began sucking and licking it.

Suddenly, Patsy took Ginger's hand and placed it on her penis. She moaned

softly as she guided Ginger's hand up and down its length. Ginger could feel

the effect his hand was having on Patsy's penis; it was rapidly hardening,

and growing to a surprisingly long length. At the same time, Patsy's tongue

was becoming more invasive in Ginger's mouth, seeming to be everywhere.

As Patsy's moans grew louder, Ginger became more concerned. He knew it

would only be a minute before Patsy would guide his mouth to her penis.

He was growing more and more fearful as that moment approached.

And then it was time. Patsy broke the kiss and placed her hand on the

back of Ginger's head. Ginger could see the ebony shaft of Patsy's cock

aimed straight up at him. He could feel the gentle pressure of Patsy's hand

as she slowly but insistently guided his mouth down to her cock. It was time.

Fearfully, Ginger opened his mouth and touched the crown of Patsy's penis

with his carefully painted lips. This was all that remained of Patsy's

former manhood, Ginger understood. Was Patsy doing this so that she,

too, like Valerie, could establish her dominance over Ginger? Did it

matter? Patsy was Ginger's friend. Patsy wanted this done. In the final

analysis, that is all that mattered to Ginger.

He opened his mouth wide and accepted the cock as it slid past his

teeth. "Lick it, my sweet lover," cooed Patsy. "Then fuck up and down it

with your lips." Ginger ran his tongue up and down the length of the

burning rod. He could feel Patsy's rapidly growing penis becoming slick

with his saliva. He began to move his lips up and down the shaft. Patsy

took his hand and gently guided it to her balls. They were silky and soft

in contrast to the stiff rubbery cock. Ginger was amazed at the difference.

His interest in this process began to grow. Certainly, he had lost his

initial sense of repugnance. Once he had accepted the fact that he was

going to do this thing, he had determined to do it well. But now he began

to realize he was actively involving himself. He noticed the taste - not

bad; he noticed the smell - not as musky as Valerie; he sensed the feel -

the texture changed with the condition of Patsy's cock, but he liked it.

He opened his eyes. He could see the tight little ringlets of Patsy's

pubic bush right in front of his eyes. There were tiny beads of sweat or,

perhaps, his saliva on the hairs. He continued to suck up and down the

cock, and now a new thought invaded his consciousness. Valerie had probably

known all along where he was destined to end up. She had known that a day

would come when he would kneel before a cock, feminized and submissively

accepting it into his mouth. She had known this and had led him down this

path. And now another thought invaded his mind. She had probably been

right to do so. Because, oh my god, he was loving this blowjob. Patsy

was his best friend in the whole world. He wanted her to love his mouth

on her penis as much as he was beginning to love it himself.

His attention was drawn back to the cock. He could sense a change in

temperature; it was growing hotter. It seemed to be increasing in diameter,

too. Ginger had to really stretch his mouth to accommodate the girth of

this wonderful tool. He could also hear Patsy's moans increasing in

volume. Patsy began to move her cock in and out of Ginger's mouth, not

waiting for him to suck, but now fucking him as her climax approached.

And then suddenly it was upon him. The penis began jerking inside his

mouth. Then, he could feel the hot cum exploding from it, smashing against

the back of his mouth. Frantically, he tried to swallow it without losing

a drop. And still another thought crashed into his brain. He loved it.

He loved this sperm. He loved this cock. He loved being on his knees like

this, paying tribute to his beloved friend.

As Patsy's sperm cascaded into his mouth, he began to cry. If his mouth

had been free, he would have shouted for joy. But all he could do was cry.

And swallow. He finally knew. And this knowledge had set him free. His

tears flowing down his cheeks joined the sperm that was spilling from his

mouth. He didn't care. He was loved. And he loved in return.

* * * * * * * * *

Several months had passed. George was back at Humboldt Manufacturing,

though no one knew it. Except, of course, Ginger. And Valerie. Ginger Worth

was Valerie's file clerk. He would sit quietly at the small typist's

desk each day, preparing correspondence, fetching and returning files

as the need arose, preparing coffee, running errands for Valerie.

And when he wasn't occupied at some menial task of one kind or another,

he would sit quietly, his bottom on the front half of his small chair, hands

folded in his lap, knees together, waiting for Valerie's instructions.

Today, he was stuffing letters in envelopes, putting stamps on them, and

getting ready to take them to the post office. As he worked, he thought.

He thought about many things, though none of them were concerned with

the kinds of thoughts that had preoccupied his mind years ago. No,

those days were long gone. He didn't miss them, either. The kinds of

thoughts that occupied him nowadays concerned his mistress Valerie,

and her pleasure. And they concerned his dear friend Patsy, and his

grateful love for her.

And that's what he thought about on this particular day. He hummed

softly, contentedly, as he worked, a small smile on his face as he

thought about

Miriam, who had been kind enough to let Valerie, who saw his real

needs, take control of his life; and about

Miss Valerie, whom he now loved without reservation, his mistress, his

goddess. There was nothing he would ever refuse her; he would dedicate

each day to fulfilling her happiness and pleasure, for it was she who

had found Ginger, who had nurtured and developed him and made him complete

and fulfilled; and, finally, about

Patsy, his dearest and sweetest friend. Miss Valerie had given him

permission to spend this evening with Patsy. They would meet after work

and maybe have dinner at Shoney's; then perhaps they would go to a

movie and hold hands in the dark; then they would finish the evening

at Miss Valerie's apartment, with Ginger's mouth wrapped tightly around

Patsy's delightful cock.

Ginger hummed and smiled and sealed another envelope.

END