NO GIRLS ALLOWED

“No girls allowed?” said Emilia out loud to herself, raising one skeptical eyebrow, though nobody was around to see her. “We’ll soon see about that.”

The folder was password-protected, but Emilia was a master computer hacker, in addition to her many other talents. It was the work of no more than a minute to break Dr. Blithe’s encryption, and reveal that his secret code was nothing more complicated than the phrase “emiliasboobs”. Emilia rolled her eyes. She did have very nice boobs, but she was pretty sure they didn’t exist for Dr. Blithe’s sole benefit, and she resented the way he called attention to them all the time. Sometimes she’d even caught him trying to look down her top in meetings! Very disrespectful in the workplace.

She clicked open the folder, and scrolled through it, at first puzzled, then aghast.

It was full of images.

Images of Emilia.

Images of Emilia… with NO CLOTHES ON!

Emilia’s jaw hung open as she looked at the full-color, high-resolution pictures of one gorgeous, scarjoid blonde (this common adjective meaning, of course, the characteristic of bearing an uncanny resemblance to Scarlett Johansson). Emilia in the shower. Emilia changing in her bedroom. Emilia… popping out of a birthday cake, with a very red face, in the middle of somebody’s bachelor party? She couldn’t quite remember that happening. But there it was, every inch of the scene captured in glorious detail, from the reflection in her wide blue eyes to the spattering of icing across her pink nipples.

And there were videos, too. NAKED videos. Emilia, kicking her legs in a bubble bath. Emilia, squealing her little head off as she streaked across a city which might be somewhere in the south of France. Emilia, sitting on what very much looked like Dr. Blithe’s desk, panting and moaning as she did something to herself with a big pink dildo that I definitely couldn’t talk about on DeviantArt. Emilia’s face (the real one, not the one in the video) turned cherry red as she watched herself spread her legs and gasp with pleasure, the slippery dildo pumping in and out of her rose-pink pussy, while the camera slightly shook in a way that suggested somebody was holding it.

She didn’t recall doing any of this! But the evidence was irrefutable. And, to Emilia’s enormous annoyance, it all appeared to be in the hands of her most despised enemy - the irritatingly smug, infinitely condescending and dangerously irreverent (though undeniably good-looking, in a Teutonic sort of way) Dr. Blithe. She couldn’t imagine anything worse than Dr. Blithe, somehow, against all the odds, contriving to see her naked. And, yet, there she was, in all his secret files. Thousands of gigabytes worth of her. Stark naked.

Well. This was obviously probably a violation of Foundation employee ethics, maybe, perhaps. Most likely. She could take this upstairs and get Blithe fired right away, and then she’d never have to deal with his crude comments, his endless innuendo and his inane schoolboy pranks ever, ever again. A grin had formed on Emilia’s face. Finally, after all this time, Blithe was getting his comeuppance.

She stood up, head full with delicious images of Blithe getting kicked out the back door of the Foundation and landing on his ass in a pile of garbage bags, and idly began to undo her blouse. A few seconds later, she realized what she was doing, and decided to stop.

She popped the last button of her blouse free, made another decision to stop undressing, and slipped the garment down off her shoulders, leaving her standing before her computer in nothing but her fairy-floss pink bra and dark pencil skirt. The webcam light had clicked on, indicating that she was being recorded. Emilia decided it was time to stop taking off her clothes, and fumbled for the zip of her pencil skirt. She shimmied out of the tight garment, and gave the webcam a little twirl in nothing but black high heels and matching pink lace bra-and-panty set.

She opened her office door, deciding as she did so that she wasn’t going to proceed any further, and strode out into the crowded corridors of Research Facility 1-A. Heads turned to watch the blushing, underwear-clad blonde as she paraded past scientists, accountants, janitors, security officers, giggling and nudging each other and sneaking entirely unsubtle looks at Emilia’s wiggling bottom and barely-contained breasts. The Facility existed in an interdimensional space outside realities, which enabled her to take a shortcut through a shopping mall in Seoul and another across a Boston baseball field.

Dr. Blithe opened the door to his office.

“Ah,” he said, a broad smile on his devilishly handsome face. “Emilia. I see you activated my cognitohazard again. Didn’t you read the warning? Please, do step inside.”

Emilia decided not to do that, and followed Blithe inside his personal private quarters, which were about twenty times bigger than hers and filled with all manner of strange devices. “Blithe,” she said, as sternly as she could manage, as the eager doctor’s blue eyes roamed over her scantily-clad figure. “You’ll pay for this.”

“Will I? How fascinating. I didn’t pay for it the last eighteen times.” He snapped his fingers, and Emilia was all of a sudden permitted to remember every previous occasion on which she’d clicked the NO GIRLS ALLOWED file, and been instantly subject to hypnotic conditioning that made her Dr. Blithe’s unwilling **** for a full calendar month. She bit her lip and whimpered, the mind-altering science forcing her to experience the emotion of embarrassment ten times more strongly than usual.

“Hey, Emilia. Why are you taking off your bra?”

“I’m not,” wailed Emilia, as her treacherous hands fumbled behind her back for her bra-clasp. Blithe’s eyes were fixed expectantly on her cleavage. She decided not to do it, and her wonderfully creamy pink-nippled breasts dropped free for Blithe’s viewing pleasure, exposed in the warm, bright lights of his office as her hands fluttered helplessly across her chest, **** to hide her shame, yet somehow unable to stay in position for more than two seconds at a time. Her bra fell to the floor as she bounced and jiggled, now clad in nothing but her pink panties, face bright red as she squirmed helplessly under his cruel gaze. “Stop looking at my boobs!”

“But, Emilia, you have such lovely boobs. Why did you take off your bra if you didn’t want me to look at your boobs?”

“I didn’t!”

“Yes you did. I can clearly see your boobs.”

“That’s not fair! You’re not allowed to look at my boobs!”

“Why not?”

“Because… because… because… because they’re my boobs!”

“That’s not a reason,” pointed out Dr. Blithe, as Emilia made a succession of conscious and increasingly frantic decisions to not hook her thumbs into the waistband of her pink panties and slowly peel them down her luscious thighs, exposing a delicious expanse of hip. “What about your pussy?”

“Don’t talk about my pussy!”

“How am I supposed to know what I’m allowed to look at if I can’t even say its name? Anyway, I’m looking at it right now. You have a very lovely pussy, Emilia,” said Dr. Blithe, as the frantic, flushed, sweaty blonde’s panties plummeted to the floor, and she stood wriggling and shamefaced before him with her hands darting ineffectually across her exposed, girlish charms. “Just as lovely as your boobs. Give me a twirl.”

“No!”

“Interesting. I thought your bottom might be ever so slightly less lovely than your boobs or your pussy, but I can see now that I was wrong. Now, Emilia, smile for the camera. And, remember, this is what happens when you break the rules.”