Acceptance

A few minutes after Mr. Moto’s telephone call, Erin stepped out of the president’s office, looking contented as she straightened her clothes. She held the new position of executive assistant to the president. It paid very well. “Hey there, Kitty-Kitty,” she sang, condescension informing her voice. “Cute outfit you have on today.”

The former company president just glowered. She was wearing a tight pink sweater with a picture of a kitten playing with a ball of yarn embroidered on the front. Kitten motifs figured prominently in her new wardrobe. Even her underthings had little kittens on them. “Go away and leave me alone,” she growled. “Please.” Her voice was soft.

“Sure thing, Kitty-Kitty. But first, here’s some more typing for you. Oscar wants you to get on this right away.” She tossed a thick pile of papers on her desk.

The secretary groaned inwardly. The typing was endless. She spent hours at it, every day. In fact, her entire job description, besides answering the phones, fetching coffee, and providing eye candy for the office, consisted of typing. Much of it was meaningless reports and statistics that Kitty-Kitty suspected Brightman could do himself, or even have done automatically by the computers. Yet he insisted that his secretary type it all instead. Brightman had even written the special word- processing program on Kitty-Kitty’s machine. It flashed random, abusive messages like “Learn to spell, airhead”, whenever Kitty- Kitty made too many mistakes.

Turning from the stack of papers, she watched Erin amble away, looking ready for a club in her shiny two-piece and stretch boots. She stopped to chat with a young programmer. They both laughed, glancing at Kitty-Kitty behind her little desk.

The other woman was wearing a fetchingly brief mauve suit with white stockings and low-heeled sandals. She was singing happily to herself as she strolled back to her cubicle. Brightman had fashioned a dramatic increase in employee loyalty and morale. The fact that he was paying everyone a decent salary might have helped.

Kitty-Kitty was only a few pages into the mountain of typing when the telephone warbled on her desk. “Pop in here for a moment, honey,” came Brightman’s voice. The sexy blonde secretary grit her teeth. There was a ritual associated with “popping in” to the boss’s office. She swore once again that she wasn’t going to fuss like a schoolgirl on a first date every time Brightman called her in for more degradation. She decided to end that, right then. Maybe she could begin to fight back if she built up her resistance in small increments.

But just as she resolved not to check her make-up again, she discovered she was already doing it. She swore in frustration. At least she tried to, but the strongest words she could think of were “Oh, pooh!” She freshened up her lipstick a little and combed out her hair. She was letting it grow out, as the boss required. There were no dark roots showing.

She got to her feet and fussed with her clothing. Kitty-Kitty was a shapely woman, and the tight sweater and skirt set she wore made no secret of it. The little kitten on her sweater was distended by the press of her breasts. Standing up, there was some hope of her thigh-length skirt covering the tops of her stockings, though the dark bands flashed enticingly with every step. Her strappy black sandals had two-inch platforms and tall heels.

She marched into the inner office, trying to look forceful and intimidating despite her man-pleasing attire. She failed entirely. Brightman was sitting behind his desk (her desk, she reminded herself) with his feet up on the blotter. His laptop was open to some obscure program in machine language. “Listen to me, you criminal,” Kitty-Kitty spat. “You can’t keep me under your thumb forever. I’m going to get out of this. Sooner or later. So go ahead and smile while you can, you degenerate pervert. When I get free you are going to regret the day you were born.”

Brightman smiled indulgently, his eyes appreciating her long legs and curvy figure. “Ah, such spirit, lassie,” he chortled. He folded his arms behind his head. “And here I thought you were just a fabulous pair of legs.” “You animal! When I get free I’ll –”

“You’ll do what, my lovely little office plaything? Go to the police? You did that before, remember?”

Instantly her demeanour changed. All the wind went out of her sails. “I, I remember,” she said meekly. “Of course you do. But tell me what happened, again. Just to refresh your memory.”

The last thing Kitty-Kitty wanted was to discuss that humiliation again. She knew Brightman was bringing it up deliberately to rub salt in the wound. But she had been given an order. She looked at the floor.

“I approached the officer at the front desk. I… oh god, I tried to tell him what you’ve done to me, how you took my company, and made me work for you, but…” “Yes?” “I… I offered him sex. Hot sex.” “What was his reaction?” “He was dumbfounded. He turned me down. He said he was married.” “Naturally. How did you respond to that?” “I tried to seduce him. I kept begging him to fuck me. I promised him any position, any perversion, the satisfaction of his most animal desires. I kept insisting. I tried to hold him, to kiss him, to fondle his genitals.” “Good show, my lovely. And when he still turned you down?” “I exposed myself. I bent way over so he could see my ass. Then I peeled my blouse off. I kept stripping right there in the police station… until…” “Go on.” “Until I was arrested.” “Oh, how mortifying. They put you in a cell didn’t they, my little gumdrop. What did you do then?” Kitty-Kitty was trembling. Her voice was barely audible. “I masturbated. Loudly. Repeatedly.” “How long did you do that?” A sob. “Until I was physically restrained.”

“Yes, I remember that. It’s a good thing for you I have some influence with the police department. I got you released into my custody instead of going for a psychological evaluation. I suppose it’s too much to expect a little gratitude.” Her fury returned. “Gratitude! You sick pervert. You stole my company! You’ve brainwashed the entire staff! You’re forcing me to –” “Whoa, hold on there, barbie-doll, nobody’s forced you to do anything. As I recall you sold this company to me fair and square We had the transaction notarized and witnessed by the bank. All very proper.” “You made me sell it! I didn’t have a choice. And at a fraction of its true value! Then you made me lend you the money to pay for it!” She clenched her fists by her side in futile rage. Her skirt stopped at about the level of her wrists.

“A convenient arrangement for all concerned,” Brightman responded, “especially given the reduction in your salary. And none of the bankers voiced any objection.”

Kitty-Kitty shuddered as she recalled the meeting where she told her loan officer and other backers that she had decided to sell the company. Brightman arranged for her to arrive half an hour late in a Spandex floral minidress coupled with elaborately patterned stockings and orange platform slides. She wore big yellow earrings with smiley faces on them.

She told the astonished group around the table that she had driven herself so hard that she had burned out. The stress of the job was too much. She needed to get away from it all, into some less stressful line of work, before her mental health suffered further.

To make the argument more convincing, Brightman instructed her to down three quick, strong drinks instead of lunch. The men and women around the table, watching the formerly sensible businesswoman sway back and forth on her enormous heels while she slurred her way through the announcement, were quickly convinced that selling was a good idea.

“You, you got to the bankers too,” Kitty-Kitty moaned. “I can tell by the way they all agree with you all the time. By the way they look at me. Nobody blinked when you told them I would be staying on staff as a secretary now.”

Indeed, at that meeting nobody blinked because they were too busy staring. The upthrusting corset Kitty-Kitty had been wearing pressed her into a classic hourglass figure. It made the most of the full-moon orbs of her breasts, displayed quite distractingly by a deeply low-necked jersey.

“God, you even made me sell my house, my car.”

“More ingratitude. You could hardly afford either of them on a secretary’s salary, now could you? I was doing you a favour. You needed the money you promised to me to help pay for the company, and I needed some wheels and a better place to live. A one-bedroom apartment is much more suitable for someone in your financial situation. It won’t kill you to take the bus.”

“Why are you doing this?” Kitty-Kitty demanded. “You’ve ruined me. You’ve taken my company, my house, my job, my whole life. None of my friends can find me. You make me read teen magazines and chew bubblegum and spend all my money on flashy clothes. Why? What have I done to you?”

Anger began to seep back into her voice. “I’ll get it all back. I know I will. When I get free of you, and I will soon, you are going to pay for this for the rest of your miserable life, you bottom-feeding scum sucker!” Her voice rose with each syllable, until she was fairly shouting.

Brightman swung his feet of the desk. “You still don’t get it, do you,” he said, suddenly serious. “The way we’re treating you is no different than how you have treated people your whole life. Use them, abuse them, then toss them out with the rubbish. Never a thought for anyone else, only greed and rapacity and ambition and endless, arrogant ego. Well, that’s all changed now. You think you can get free of me? Maybe you can. But first, you are going to have to figure out how I’m doing it, aren’t you?”

He leaned back in his overstuffed chair, smiling again. “Think about it, sweetcheeks. You’ve been looking hot in that secretary’s chair for months now, trying to figure out what’s going on. Made any progress so far?”

Kitty-Kitty blushed. She knew what he was referring to. Every time she tried to get her mind around how he was controlling her — really stop and think about it logically — she was overcome with an irresistible urge to go play with herself. The dancing fingers in her pussy tended to make reasoning very difficult. The shapely blonde toyed with the bottom of her straining sweater. “I’ll figure it out,” she declared.

“Will you?” He looked at her critically. “Maybe you should consider this. Perhaps my influence includes keeping the mechanism a secret. Maybe, if I can change the way you act, the way you dress, the way you talk, then maybe, just maybe, I can also change the way you think. Maybe I can prevent you from seeing how the trick is done — even when it’s right in front of you. Have you considered that, my little puff pastry?”

Kitty-Kitty’s delicately made-up eyes went wide behind her wire-rim glasses. “You’re not — you wouldn’t…”

He shrugged. “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. Just something for you to think about. “But I didn’t call you in to discuss your petty complaints. Get me some fresh coffee. While your at it, don’t forget to take the coffee and snack orders for the rest of the staff. Then get busy on that typing. Stay late until you get it done.”

Kitty-Kitty set her jaw, determined to resist. “Yes sir, at once,” she said primly, turning to go. She knew Brightman’s eyes were on her receding figure. She wondered if her seams were straight.

“Oh, one more thing,” he called after her. “Wear one of your school-girl outfits tomorrow. I’m in the mood for plaid.”

“Of course, sir,” his shapely secretary replied, shuffling out the door. Kitty-Kitty sat down in her little chair again, no longer caring that her hemline slipped up past the edge of her ass. She stared blankly at the word-processor on her desk. The animated kitten jumped and gambolled across the screen.

Was Brightman really doing something to keep her from figuring out how he controlled her? She was an intelligent, logical woman. Yet after several months as his obedient secretary she was not an inch closer to discovering the source of his power. She had come to accept her new position with a compliance that was completely out of character. Brightman allowed her to shout at him because he enjoyed her frustration. She was meek and polite with everyone else. How did he do it? Was there something in the air? Subliminal messages in the musak? Drugs in her milk? (She wasn’t allowed to drink coffee.) She touched a key and the word processing program re-appeared, the cursor blinking patiently. Could it be the —

“Mmmmmm, noooo,” Kitty-Kitty moaned as a pleasant, familiar warmth flooded over her. She had been thinking about things too much. She gasped, almost shivering, and ran both hands down her sides. “Can’t, oh nooo, not right noow,” she cried out loud. She got to her feet, staggering for a moment as she flushed in heat. Her nipples were already hard. She tweaked one experimentally. Another moan escaped her.

This one was even worse than usual. The question of Brightman’s machinations would have to wait. There was a more urgent matter to attend to. Desperate for release, the lust-consumed blonde hurried off to the washroom. Running was quite impossible in her narrow platform sandals, so she made do with a fast, dainty totter.

Her hands were up under her miniskirt before the door even closed. Nothing mattered then but satisfying the intense sexual need she felt, and wallowing in the bliss of her first orgasm. It would take several rounds with her fingers, she suspected, before she could return to her typing. Either that, or she could seduce one of the programmers again. Kitty-Kitty sat down on a toilet seat and spread her legs wide. She slipped two fingers back between her legs. In a few minutes her ardent groans were audible in the hallway outside.

Back at her little office, the cute kitten played on the computer screen, waiting for her to return.