Ms. Patrice Walker. (Corporate Ownership is Caring)

There was something different about Ms. Patrice Walker when she strode through the work-place that morning, eyes smoldering as she counted heads—Thomas, Richard, Keith, Raj, Tyrone, and the intern, Hellen—, then nodded in satisfaction. “Excellent! You are all here today, and punctual for a change. I want to see everyone in the meeting room immediately!”

The team exchanged glances, wondering what shit they were in.

The willowy, tall, long legged blonde, was as always impeccably dressed in neatly pressed power suits and trousers, with tidy hair, and the barest hint of makeup. All business, but with feminine allure. Still, there was something out of place; was that a new hair style?

Appearance aside Patrice was very good at her job, and successful enough that she had never needed to use her body to get anywhere. Perhaps, couldn’t was more accurate. It was speculated --behind her back obviously-- that underneath her stern exterior lay the body of an ice sculpture. Eminently desirable, but too intimidating to approach without getting frost burnt.

Ms. Patrice Walker was married to her job of project manager. She was a b…bulldog who had worked hard to earn the respect of her peers and underlings. Patrice also worked her underlings hard; being a frighteningly efficient perfectionist herself, she demanded no less of her team. Harshly critical of every minor mistake or delay, she wrung the best performance from her team with an iron will, and this completely rubbed them the wrong way.

The thing that particularly annoyed the team this day was the gall of her demanding that they work on site when their taskmistress had disappeared to for over a week. A measure of their concern was that they did not notice her silhouette.

Sitting imperiously at the head of the meeting table, she waited for them to shuffle in and fill the accustomed seating arrangement.

“Alright, since you’ve been punctual for a change, I’ll make this brief. Corporate has received an anonymous suggestion that we partake in the ‘Give-a-Fuck’ foundations’ ‘Ownership is Caring’ initiative, and I suspect that it was from one of you. Is anyone willing to own up?”

She glowered at the team. Eventually Thomas caved.

“Ah, sorry. It was just a prank to, well…”

“I am disappointed in you, Thomas. I thought that it was an excellent suggestion.”

“Eh?”

“You have been working so hard on the latest projects, that you all obviously have little time left for a social life, … or self-care, evidently. Look at your crumpled suits, unkempt hair, and crumbs left from a hurried breakfast. That rampant tension needs some well-earned stress release. That’s why I have green lit the idea to assign my team an ‘Office Slut’.”

Crickets chirped somewhere in the background.

“Was that the wrong decision?” Patrice asked icily. “I’ve already made all the necessary arrangements. It would be <i>most</i> inconvenient if your suggestion really was a mere prank.”

“… Wait. Are you kidding?”

She glowered at the speaker pointedly. “Having a woman converted to fuckable property is nothing to joke about, Hellen. And have I every joked about anything?”

“Ah…”

“Indeed. I have fully committed to providing this team with the best Office Slut possible. After careful thought and consultation with the Give-A-Fuck people, I found the perfect candidate."

“Don't look at me!” Hellen protested.

“No, I clearly mean me.”

Patrice Walker suddenly stood up, peeled off her blazer, folded it neatly over her chair. She then turned around and unbuttoned her blouse to direct her her perplexed team's collective gaze just below her naval where the company logo was tattooed.

“As you can see, I have already donated my body to the company, so I do hope you have no complaints. Let’s begin the inspection.”

She continued unbuttoning, revealing a surprisingly large pair of breasts. That was what was different about her that morning. That and apparently a whole lot more.

Turning around she exposed a peculiar tramp stamp, a barcode of her employee id, but in the format of the company’s stock id. The top dropped unceremoniously to the floor, bra swiftly followed, and she bent over to drop her trousers. Her buttocks had seemingly received the same plumping augmentation as her breasts. She had forgone even bothering with panties.

She kicked aside her sensible office shoes and swivelled to watch their stunned faces. “I spent the last week getting your suggested ‘big fake titties’ and ‘spankable bitch arse’ installed, among a few more subtle adjustments. I hope this is to everyone’s satisfaction because its a strictly no refunds policy.

“Do you wish to inspect my body more, or shall we move straight on to performance evaluation?”