Undress for your new boss

Mr. Smith's brief analysis of your psychological makeup, even though intended for someone else entirely, hits you dead on, leaving you feeling a little stunned. You wonder how much John knew about what you'd be walking into here.

You'll have to be careful here, you remind yourself. You're here to help John get his body back, not play sextoy secretary games.

Stilll...it's obvious you're at Mr. Smith's mercy at the moment. Surely John knows you'd have to play your part...you steal a glance at John's ghosted image.

He shrugs. “Don't let me stand between a girl and her libido. Besides, he's expecting you to obey.”

“He'll probably want to...you know, fuck me,” you think back at him.

John sighs. “Okay, let's put it this way. Submit to this guy - do whatever he wants - or when you get back here I'm going to whip your ass so hard you won't be able to sit for a week. I need you to arouse no suspicion.”

“You'd do that, wouldn't you?” you ask.

“Yes,” John replies. “I love you, baby, but if you don't start showing this guy the Sophie you showed me yesterday - born cocksucker Sophie - I can and will make you regret it. Now do it.”

Spurred on by John, you comply. Mr. Smith's eyes watch you cooly as you unbutton your shirt. You slide your arms out of the sleeves, acutely aware of the way your breasts sway in the air-conditioned air, aware of his eyes on them. You let the shirt drop to the floor, feeling exquisitely exposed.

You look over at Mr. Smith, feeling his eyes examining your bare chest. To him you're just a pretty girl - even if he knows you were once a man, it's clear that's of no consequence to him - and his obvious interest in you makes you feel even more feminine.

“Nice,” Mr. Smith says. “Now the skirt.” His voice is firm, commanding, and makes your knees weak. He's got some kind of ingrained control over you, you realize - probably pheremones, the same way he's controlled by Mrs. Smith. But all that means is that the edge has been taken off your fear - fear of really submitting, of really being in another's power. You'd want to do this anyway - dear God, you'd have given anything for this - but having your arousal guiding your actions makes things easier.

You zip open the miniskirt on your right hip, then shimmy out of it. It drops to the floor, leaving you feeling very exposed.

“The heels too.”

You bend forward, feeling your breasts hang under you as you unbuckle the heel straps and step out of them. You glance up at Mr. Smith as you set the shoes aside and straighten yourself. His gaze is appraising; he's clearly examining your body for flaws, defects, and pleasing aspects. There's a sense of entitlement in his manner that makes you feel ****, and to your chagrin you actually find yourself trembling. You swear you can feel your cunt grow slick with moisture, and your chest turns flushed and pink.

“That's the girl I know and love,” you hear John say in your head.

“Shut up, please,” you think back to him.

“Okay, okay. I'm still going to be watching, but mainly to scan your visual input for anything your conscious mind might miss in the course of your little sex scene here.”

“Well,” Mr. Smith says, a wide grin on his face, “it's obvious you have the right...attitude, Sophie.” He gestures to a sidetable. There's an assortment of liquor bottles and glassware there.

“Mix me a highball, dear,” he says.