Georgia's private bathroom

The door turns out to be a bathroom you didn't realize existed. Inside, you see some hints of personality in the decor. Georgia has clearly made this a personal space for herself. One wall is dominated by a framed painting of a forest. Closer inspection shows several easy-to-miss details hidden in the foliage. Some deer by a stream, a small cabin, and a man chopping wood, for example. The rest of the room is decorated in theme, in accents of lively brown and green, with one shelf featuring small figurines of woodland creatures. An air freshener lends a pleasant pine scent to the genuinely relaxing space.

"Huh. And here I was starting to think she was some kind of robot."

A small wardrobe stands at the far end of the modestly-sized room and open it to see two complete outfits worth of clothing, complete with shoes and underwear. Ever the practical one, it seems Georgia is prepared for literally anything.

You peel off the damp blouse, shuddering slightly from the cold, unpleasant sensation as it separates from your skin. As you're fumbling around the waist of your skirt to figure out how the thing even works, you catch sight of yourself in the bathroom mirror and gape, getting your first proper look at Georgia's body, without a pesky shirt getting in the way.

"Fuck..." you whisper. You knew she cut a nice figure, but you'd never expected she was hiding such well-defined abs. Your body looked like that of a fitness model, lean and cut, but still slender and feminine. The woman must maintain a strictly regulated lifestyle for a body like this. It's attractive, definitely, but more than anything you're just impressed as you run your fingers over yourself.

Shaking your head, you realize you're going to have to explain every second you're in this room longer than Georgia expects, and you hurriedly strip out of your remaining clothes. The cream bra features splotches of discoloration, so you ditch it in favor of a clean one, taking the opportunity to quickly fondle yourself in the mirror. You suspect some surgical enhancement, but if so, it's very good. Your fingers can't really tell them apart from the real deal—not that you've had a ton of opportunities to touch breasts in your life. You just don't think there's any way a body as lean as this could be so stacked.

As your body begins to respond to your touch and you focus your fingers on your sensitive nipples, you hear your own familiar voice yelling at someone on the other side of the door. Right. Georgia.

Shaking yourself back to focus, you clumsily wrestle the new bra onto your body, grateful that the wardrobe contained a cream-colored bra identical to the one you took off. You came in with a matching set, and didn't want to have to figure out if Georgia would consider it important that you remain matching. "Is that a crazy thing to worry about right now?" you ask yourself with a laugh.

But Georgia has reprimanded you for less, and it never hurts to be sure. Interestingly, you note that the two cream sets of lingerie are very functional and professional, but the third set in the wardrobe is black and lacey, with far less coverage. Definitely meant to be seen. But why would Georgia keep such things in the office?

You don't have time to worry about it, you decide, hurriedly pulling on a white tank top to wear under your blouse, struggling to smoosh and nudge and arrange your large breasts to look exactly how Georgia always looks. Perhaps a bit shamefully, you can recall with exactness the amount of cleavage she prefers to show, thanks to all the sneaky glances you've stolen in the weeks you've worked under her.

Once again dressed and presentable, you carefully place the soiled clothes into a plastic bag and let yourself out of the bathroom. Thankfully, you're already starting to get the hang of walking around in your heels.