This is the complete first chapter for the 5 part series: The office Dupe.
The entire novel is now available on Kindle (by October 2011), Lulu and Ibooks.
The Office Dupe.
by Deborah Ford.
I knew my wife could not be cheating on me. She was far too loyal and loving to me. She certainly had the explanations for why she was working late and why she now had to work away for a weekend. Her boss had asked for her specifically what could she do?
I gazed at my wife’s gorgeous, pleading, blue eyes and understood that she had to agree to her boss’s demands.
As for the stockings and basque: “it is hot in these modern offices,” she cooed. In fact she had spent a fortune on new under wear. But offices can be hot and stuffy and it would be unfair if she had to wear tights in such an environment.
“I know it can’t be an affair,” I reassured her, ” after all you have been off sex for almost a year now.”
“Quite!” She gave me a peck on the cheek. Moments later she was off to her office. And I was left completely reassured. How foolish to harbour such doubts simply because she is so sexy and attractive and loves to flirt with men.
I was fortunate to have a woman who did not mind being the breadwinner and having to work so late every night. She would inevitably return in the early hours completely flustered and exhausted. Yet, and this will tell you what sort of woman she was, despite her exhaustion she would look somehow serene and contented.
As a freelance journalist I was left at home but please understand that I always did my share of the housework. Deborah was always kind enough to make me a list of the chores that had to be completed before I could do my own work. She was thoughtful like that. That is why I worshipped her. I was so lucky. Even if she had gone off sex for so long she was still beautiful and men envied me.
With Deborah going away for the weekend with her boss my first chore was to iron her suits and blouses. As a special treat, to demonstrate how sorry I was for doubting her, I would spend a lot of time on her new underwear, particularly the basque.
It was after I had finished the ironing and the vacuuming that I realised it had gone eleven o’clock. Deborah says that I should always have a break at eleven. I made a coffee put my feet up, picked up the paper and almost fell off the sofa. There in the job vacancies was an advert for a position in Deborah’s company, Davies Ltd., for a publicist to work in the office.
Wouldn’t Deborah be thrilled if I got the job! I rang immediately. The ever so polite receptionist put me through to Mister Davies himself.
He was a bit frosty at first. Something about wanting a girl to do it. I pointed out that he was flying in the face of the sex discrimination act and that shut him up! I then played my ace hand and told him that he already employed my wife: Mrs Hawkins.
He was go smacked! “You’re Debbie’s husband?”
“Deborah,” I corrected him. She hates being called Debbie, so patronising and little girlish.
“Er yes, Deborah.” Now he really was lost for words. “I’ll ring you back,” he replied lamely.
Pleased with myself, I did the downstairs bathroom in record time. Since Deborah had landed such highly paid jobs we had really been able to buy a lovely home with two bathrooms. Unfortunately with so much housework I had little time for my journalism and had proved so unreliable to employers that I was rarely commissioned for new works.
Not that I begrudge Deborah being the main breadwinner. Since she had the bank account changed into her name only, and my credit cards stopped, she has been very generous with me. However much money I request for the weekly shopping she always gives me a little bit extra. ‘Get a little something for yourself while you are there’, she will say. She is thoughtful like that.
Mr Davies rang me back just after lunch. As I suspected, I had him on the rack. He told me to come in and “we would have a chat.”
An hour later I was at the plush offices of Davies Ltd.
I was greeted by the most adorable of secretaries. There was not anything they would not do for me. The place reeked of efficiency and was run by a formidable dark haired woman who towered above my 5’6″. She introduced herself as Miss Morgan and the way she told me to sit and wait to be called was almost like an instruction from Deborah on a particularly bad day.
Most extraordinary was how smart the girls were. There were five of them working silently and industriously behind their desks. They all wore sexy little kilt styled skirts that swayed around their bottoms when ever they walked around. Their attire consisted of the kilts, knee length white socks and crisp, white blouses. I approved. Smartness is the best quality about any office.
Miss Morgan wore a tight knee length leather skirt that made her stand out from the other girls.
Ten minutes later I was led by Miss Morgan into Mr Davies’ office.
My mouth fell agape. Not that Deborah had ever described him to me. She never mentioned anything about her work as she felt I would not under stand it. But I did not expect him to be so tall, athletic and well, er, black. He did not bother to stand when I entered, nor did he offer me a chair so I stood.
How despicably arrogant and loutish. His close cropped black hair would have been repulsive to Deborah. She was always telling my how nice my hair was now that it grown long. In fact she insisted on was making sure that I brushed it every day.
This man could do with learning some manners I told myself. I could see that I could make a contribution here!
“Debbie and me have discussed your situation and we agree that we could take you on under a short contract. We’ll see how you make out.”
I smiled to myself. ‘Debbie’ as he referred to her would have wanted me here and he probably fought against it. This was their compromise.
I would like to be in the same room when he called her Debbie to her face. Deborah had the most fearsome temper. I lived in mortal fear of her.
“Fine,” I said. I am sure he thought I would say no. I had him yet again. “When do I start,” I asked pointedly.
I am sure Debbie would be pleased to have me with her on her weekend away from home. She was terrible at ironing her dresses. That is why she always insisted I should do it for her. She was forced to admit that there was something I was better at than her.
“Of course you have to agree to the company rules.” Now he was fumbling for excuses.
“Of course!” That got him.
“Managers must always be referred to as Mister or Miss. No first name terms from the office staff to the managers.”
Seemed fair enough. I did not mind if the girls addressed me formerly. It would be quite pleasant.
“Any infringements and your contract is curtailed. Immediately”
“Obviously.” Now I really had him. Wouldn’t Deborah be pleased.
Now he fell silent. Brooding. He was desperately trying to find some other obstacle.
“There is one small point,” he began.
I remained silent, eager to agree to ‘the small point’.
“I do not like the idea of husbands and wives working in the same companyÉ”
Tough, I thought, he cannot stop it happening.
“..you must not, er,” he searched for the appropriate words, “make any advances to her whilst she is working.”
“Fine,” I smiled. He was not going to get me on that one. I could be very professional.
“Errmm,” he glared at me searching for the words.
I had really got the better of Deborah’s boss!
He winced, “that means no sex.”
“Of course not,” I would not be making love to my wife in the office! The fool. Anyway we had not made love for a year.
“There is only one way I can ensure your co-operation in this delicate matter.”
“Yes?” I asked. Now I knew he was struggling.
He dropped a small device on the table. A small black tube with a curve in it attached to a black plastic looking loop.
“It’s a chastity belt. If you agree to wear it then I know you will stand by your agreement.”
He stared at me with dark cold brown eyes and I shivered. I had given him my word what more could he want. I stared at the awful little device on his desk.
“Of course,” he said sitting back, hands clasped behind his head, “we could just say forget it. I am sure I will find opportunities for you in the future.”
So that was his plan! I was not going to have that.
“How long do I have to wear it in order to satisfy your suspicions,” I said pointedly.
“Just while you are working. I will of course remove it when you are not at work and reapply it when you are.”
There was something so horribly smug about him.
“I agree!” I announced, calling his bluff.
He raised an eyebrow but did not seem all that put out.
He had me sign a document that was far to thick to read and then I caught my breath as he ordered:
“Drop your pants then.”
What an awfully crude man. How could Deborah put up with him?
He picked up the device and stood. I was staggered to see how tall he was. Maybe 6’3″. I felt tiny and weak next to him.
He stood over me and I knew I had no choice. I undid my trousers and pulled them down.
He guffawed loudly. He really was dreadfully crude.
Then I remembered what I was wearing. Deborah had insisted that I wear women’s panties. It was easier, she explained patiently to me, if she just bought the same underwear for both of us at the same time. Gradually she had thrown out my underpants until all I was left with were the silky briefs she had chosen for me.
At least these were just a little, tight, white pair with only a little decoration around the legs. Unfortunately they had the uncomfortable thong piece at the rear which left my buttocks exposed.
“Pull down your knickers,” he said cruelly.
I really could not see the point in being so nasty about it. However I quickly complied pulling the panties down to my knees.
He held my penis between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s a good thing I got the extra small size,” he joked.
I pretended that I had not heard his silly put down. Deborah has explained to me that with my penis growing to a full 4 and a half inches when it is erect it matches any man. She put my mind at rest about men being bigger.
“It simply isn’t true,” she had laughed, when I raised the subject, (if you know what I mean), “that some men are even bigger than six inches.”
That put my mind at rest I can tell you.
‘It is all nonsense, she had declared. In fact she spoke so confidently that I jokingly replied that she must have had a lot of experience! I must point out that it is not always wise to make a joke at the expence of Deborah. That night I was sent to bed at seven thirty and had to wash the dinner dishes the following morning!
He wrapped the black circular section behind my balls, tight up to my body and slid the cylinder up my penis. It was all smooth plastic, but it’s weight suggested some dense metal beneath the plastic covering.
“Anyway,” I said to throw him off guard, “how would you have known to get in the ‘extra small one’ not having seen mine before.”
“I wonder,” he said with an awful grin.
He put a tiny but formidable looking padlock through the ring and cylinder and it clicked tightly into place.
I was going to lecture him on the fact that you cannot tell a man’s size from his height but I was more anxious to get dressed.
The chastity belt was firm and heavy. There was something decidedly unyielding about it. I felt a tremor of fear in the pit of my stomach. I had given this somewhat arrogant, big, man control over my penis.
“Pull up your knickers,” he said in a mocking tone.
“Now look!” It was time to put my foot down.
He picked up his phone: “Miss Morgan come in here and take our new recruit to the fitting room.
Aye-Aye. The door was about to open with me naked from the waist down save for a chastity belt.
I gathered up my trousers and panties in one movement just as the door opened.
To my shame my efforts resulted in me over balancing. I was left sitting on the floor, legs enmeshed in my trousers and panties.
Miss Morgan smiled cruelly, obviously enjoying my embarrassment. For reasons of pure spite she held the door wide open so that the girls in the office could see my shame.
I was fuming I can tell you. I would seek the first available opportunity to let Miss Morgan know exactly what I thought of her behaviour!
The fitting room was little more than a small office with mirrors and changing rooms.
“All office staff wear the same clothes,” Miss Morgan barked.
“And they look very sweet,” I acknowledged.
She held a kilt up to my waist sizing me up.
I giggled. It was nice to be teased after the heavy fearsome Mister Davies.
“Hold this,” she said sternly giving me the kilt on its hanger.
I took it as she returned with a white, girl’s, silk blouse that fastened between the legs.
I gaped at her open mouthed.
“But I cannot wear a kiltÉ”
That really upset her. “You signed the contract. You want to work in my office. You will wear the uniform. And be glad I don’t make you wear a short kilt like the other girls!”
I was dumb founded.
“Oh please get a move on.”
“I want to see Mister Davies!” I said as firmly as I could manage. I am fearful to say that my words trembled and sounded squeaky as I spoke them.
“Mister Davies will see you later when we assess your performance for the day.”
I was trapped. If I wanted to see Mr Davies to explain the mistake Miss Morgan had made then I would have to go along with her.
She prodded my tum. “Mmm. That’s not going to look very nice is it.”
I looked down. Someone needed to tell her that she pokes too hard.
“I suggest you wear this,” she sighed picking up a waist clincher.
This was going too far.
“Now look,” I spluttered.
“Oh well if you want to look like a man in possession of an enormous beer gut then forget it.” She threw the clincher aside. “Doesn’t bother me. No skin off my nose.”
Now I was suspicious. Why was so ready to agree with me?
“Why should I wear it?” I demanded.
“Just get dressed quickly. You’ve wasted enough of my time!”
As you can imagine I was not going to let her get away with that!
“I might use it.” I said thoughtfully.
She rolled her eyes up to the ceiling, a little too theatrically if you ask me.
I snatched it up and disappeared into the changing room.
As it happens the waist clincher was somewhat difficult to put on. Straps at the back and a final string pull-tie at the front. Once in it I must say that I felt a little breathless and bending down to pick up the blouse left me gasping for air. At first I had problems with the tiny buttons up the front. They were on the wrong side. Though a pretty flap ran down the length of the blouse which would cover the buttons.
The kilt was more of a skirt that you stepped into it rather than wrapping around the waist. It was also a good deal lighter than I imagined a kilt to be. I always thought of them as being made of rough, heavy, woven wool. This was quite a pleasant silky, light material.
It zipped up the back and I was quite glad for the cincher. I don’t think it would have gone round my waist without it.
I emerged from the fitting room with a flourish, feeling quite smart and confident.
Miss Morgan eyed me up and down critically but reluctantly nodded her head.
Talk about faint praise.
She handed me a pair of white knee length socks. As I put them on I realised how sheer they were. They felt quite nice against my legs. Deborah has encouraged me to keep my legs shaven, for aesthetic reasons, so as you can imagine it felt glorious to pull these on.
“Size feet?” Barked miss courteous.
“Sevens,” I replied. I can see Miss Morgan and me falling out before long.
She brought out a pair of T bar shoes with a small raised heel. They reminded me of what the girls in school used to wear. It was time to assert myself.
“Now, just a moment Miss Morgan,” I said forcefully.
Her only reaction was to roll her eyes and storm out of the room shouting: “just get your arse out here when you are ready for some work!”
That left me with no other choice than to don the footwear.
I must say I felt deeply foolish. I slid my feet into the tiny shoes and took an age to get the tiny straps secured.
I walked to the door feeling a little odd with the slightly raised heels and exposed legs.
Outside the door Miss Morgan was rifling through some documents whilst one of the office girls, attired as I was, stood anxiously before her.
I stared at the young girl waiting for her to look at me so that I could say hello. But she was clearly in total fear of Miss Morgan. Her hands stayed behind her back, her eyes were wide, her shapely legs nervously twitched.
“It will do girl!” Miss Morgan snapped pushing the documents back into the grateful girl’s hands.
“Oh yes Miss Morgan, thank you Miss Morgan,” the girl obsequiously replied doing little bobs, like courtesies as she spoke.
“You’re dismissed,” Miss Morgan said with a bored, pained lilt.
The young girl practically fled back into the office.
What an office bully! Wait until I tell Mister Davies about this unpleasant bitch. I am sure that he will sort her out.
Miss Morgan turned to a machine in the corner. “what’s your name again?”
She sighed impatiently. “Your christian name you little fool.”
“Lindsay,” I said somewhat shocked at her tone.
She banged away at a few buttons and the machine clanged. Something metallic clattered to the pocket at the base of the machine. She snatched it up. It was one of those name badges you get at commercial fairs.
She turned and fastened it to my blouse at chest height.
I looked down. It read: “Linzi.” With ‘Davies Ltd.’ stamped beneath it. Now I had her!
“You’ve misspelt my name!” I announced triumphantly.
“So?” She arched her eyebrow.
“Now listen carefully. You are entering a very efficient office. I mean to keep it like that. I demand respect from all office staff and require you to serve our customer’s needs and our manager’s needs with the same courteous regard. Everyone is to be addressed as Mister, Mrs or Miss, apart from your fellow office girls of course. They should always be addressed by their Christian names.”
I tried to interject. “I am not an officeÉ”
“Your duties are as stated in your contract. Veer from them and I will be on top of you like a ton of bricks. If your performance does not meet with my high standards then you will be sent to Mister Davies. I can assure you that you will not want to visit him twice. Understand Linzi?”
“Er yesÉ..but it’s not Linzi, it’s Lindsay. And I am here to do publicity work not office work.” I do detest people foolish enough not to listen.
She stepped forward, towering and intimidating. “Listen Linzi,” she spat pointedly, “the job description includes publicity amongst your office duties. More importantly your contract clearly states that you must perform tasks that are specifically given to you by the managers here. Is that clear Linzi?”
“YesÉ.but my name isÉ”
“Yes Miss Morgan! Lets start as we mean to go along shall we?” She snapped.
“Yes ÉMiss Morgan. All I wanted to say wasÉ”
“I’m too busy to listen to you right now. It’s time you did some work around here.”
She opened the office door and I walked into the quiet, professional world of Davies Ltd.
The girls went busily about their work desperately trying to avoid Miss Morgan’s eye.
“Here’s your desk.”
“Yes Miss Morgan.”
I sat at a desk with a computer, and a small telephone switchboard. I was grateful to sweep my bare legs under the table, though I was shocked by how much a kilt rides up when you sit down. I tugged at it uselessly.
“Until we can find you something useful to do you will be our receptionist.”
Receptionist! I had to say something, but I did not exactly relish an argument in front of the other girls.
“When the phone rings you lift it up and say: “Good Morning you are through to Davies Limited, this is Linzi speaking, how may I be of service to you.” Try it.
“Er good morning,” I stammered, “you are É.”
“With the phone in your hand you little fool.”
I could hear some giggles coming from the other girls.
“Silence,” Miss Morgan commanded and the office returned to the quiet, smooth running machine.
I lifted up the phone, my mouth feeling dry. “Good Morning you are through to Davies Limited, this is Lindsay speaking, how may I be of service to you.”
“What is your name?” She sighed as if talking to the most stupidest person on the planet.
“Lyndsay,” I said, trying to sound resolute, but failing miserably under her wilting gaze.
“What is on your badge?”
“Well, that is wrongÉ” I protested.
“What is on your badge?” She insisted.
“Linzi,” I replied.
“Exactly. Now is it not going to confuse things around here if you have two names?”
“Well I suppose it might.” It did seem logical; she did have a point.
“So let us stay with Linzi.” She said emphatically. “So do it again. And this time make sure you sound like you are offering a service. Say it with a smile fixed to your face.
“Yes Miss Morgan,” I swallowed and found a smile. I must say I felt deeply silly as I went through with the mantra wearing such a ridiculous fixed grin. “Good Morning. You are through to Davies Limited, this is Linzi speaking, how may I be of service to you?”
“It will have to do. You then put the caller through to the manager asked for. Now I am going to my desk,” She announced marching back passed the girls. “But I will keep an eye on you Linzi.”
“Yes Miss Morgan,” I said relieved to finally see the back of her.
Miss Morgan sat behind a desk facing us and glowered at us. She appeared to be taking in every detail of the room.
Then I noticed that the blond girl who had been outside the fitting room was sat with her hand stuck straight up. Her face was slightly flushed as well it might be, having to engage in such a demeaning act in order to get attention.
However Miss Morgan deliberately ignored her, her eyes sweeping the room.
The blond girl tried to make her hand higher.
Suddenly Miss Morgan’s eyes narrowed on a short timid looking brunette with a cute face.
“Yes Miss Morgan?” Venessa trembled.
“Don’t slouch girl! That is hardly going to impress our clients is it?”
Venessa shot up in her chair. “No Miss Morgan. Sorry Miss Morgan.”
My stomach turned over. Clients? In here. Seeing me dressed like this, sat behind a desk like some junior office girl.
I leapt upright.
“Yes Miss Morgan,” my mouth dried immediately.
“Keep your legs together! You’re not in some tarty discotheque now!”
My thighs slammed together as if on elastic. I felt my cheeks burn. Oh God. This was dreadful.
“And finally you Katie.”
I turned to see the blond girl gratefully drop her arm and plead earnestly: “please Miss Morgan may I go to the toilet.”
“You may,” announced Miss Morgan loudly in order to heighten poor katie’s mortification.
The blond girl rose briskly, her little kilt flapping about her legs.
“In a moment,” Miss Morgan continued sadistically. “Finish your work first.”
Katie froze, bewildered and then sat down again, her face puckered in discomfort.
“Yes Miss Morgan,” she choked.
I noticed that Miss Morgan bore a smug, satisfied leer. What a hateful woman. If that cow thought that I would be putting my hand up if I wanted to spend a penny she was very much mistaken!
Just then the phone rang. Oh God. My stomach turned over. I could see that I had Miss Morgan’s undivided attention. I lifted the handset with a shaking hand and closed my eyes. From somewhere I found a wide smile: “Good Morning you are through to Davies Limited, this is Linzi speaking, how may I be of service to you.”
I had no idea whether I had spoken the words. All I could hear was the boom-boom of my thumping heart. A male voice at the other end of the receiver said something.
“I’m sorry, could you repeat that,” I whispered desperate that miss Morgan had not heard me.
“I would like to speak to Mr Davies please,” the voice said, emphatically as if I were a total idiot.
“Yes sir, certainly,” I said. I put the call on hold and pressed the button marked Mr Davies.
Somehow I managed to put the call through. I put the phone down and sat back in my seat as if I had been through the worst ordeal imaginable.
“Linzi, Linzi, Linzi!”
I gasped. Miss Morgan was right next to me.
“Yes miss Morgan?” I gulped.
“Did you ask for the caller’s name before you put him through?”
“I ,er ..no Miss Morgan.”
Miss Morgan pursed her lips angrily. Please don’t shout at me in front of all the girls. Please.
“Write out a hundred times in your neatest handwriting: Even fluffy headed receptionists like me must always ask for the callers name.”
“Yes Miss Morgan,” I said smartly. Phew. That was a close one. I had a little victory there.
I set about my task with earnest. I gratefully wrote, as neatly as I could; ‘even fluffy headed receptionists like me must always ask for the callers name.’ Then I began again directly beneath the first line.
Miss Morgan walked away: “oh Katie?”
“Yes Miss Morgan?” Katie asked hopefully.
“You may now visit the toilet.”
“Yes Miss Morgan. Thank you Miss Morgan”
I heard Katie getting up and going to the door.
“And do hurry up girl!”
“Yes Miss Morgan. Of course Miss Morgan.”
I heard the office door shut.
As Miss Morgan returned to her seat I ensured that my legs were firmly together beneath my desk. I felt an odd stirring in my groin. As if I were feeling sexually excited. It was then that I remembered the tube that was locked so firmly around my member.
Ugh. I was desperate to have a wank. I crossed my legs trying to forget about it. I concentrated on my lines. I knew that the device would remain steadfast and that I would have to control my whims. ‘Even fluffy headed receptionists like me must always ask for the callers name,’ I wrote desperate to take my mind off my enclosed, imprisoned member.
Just then the office outer door opened. Oh thank God. It was Deborah.
She looked fantastic in a light grey trouser suit, her lovely long legs and blond hair seeming to brighten up the office.
“Hello girls!” She announced.
“Good morning Miss Ford.”
My mouth fell open. Miss? She was my wife! Miss Ford? That was her maiden name!
She saw me and I have never felt so grateful and so relieved. She would sort out the dreadful Miss Morgan for me.
“Oh hi!” She strode up to me and examined my name plate. “Linzi. Oh That is sweet. Are you settling in here alright Linzi?”
“Uhm. Yes. Thank you.” I said in shock.
She then turned and asked Miss Morgan: “and how is how new recruit shaping up Miss Morgan?”
Miss Morgan came over with an ugly, superior smirk on her face. I felt a tremor in my tummy.
“Early days Miss Ford, early days,” she was now towering above me.
My cheeks flushed hot as I looked up at my wife. She was a manager wasn’t she? I had to say something.
“I’m the new publicity manager here,” I said weakly.
Deborah laughed gaily. “Oh are you my sweet. A manager eh? She winked at Miss Morgan. “My, my. And what does a publicity,” she paused to emphasis the next word, “manager, do?”
She had an awful smile on her face. Wait till we got home, then I would tell her how uncomfortable she made me feel.
“I, er, answer the phone,” I said lamely.
The other girls laughed.
“Silence,” commanded Miss Morgan.
Deborah turned the sheet of paper on which I was writing my lines around. She pursed her lips: “but room for improvement eh Miss Morgan?”
“There certainly is,” Miss Morgan announced spitefully.
“Well,” Deborah said, bringing the conversation to a close. “We had better watch out for you then. A manager eh?”
“Yes,” I said uncertainly.
“And you concentrate on your lines Linzi.”
I nodded shamefaced.
She walked off, her gorgeous bottom wriggling in her trouser suit.
I looked up and saw that Miss Morgan was not very pleased with me.
Katie came back into the room and saw my wife. She smiled and did her little bob again as she said: “Good Morning miss Ford.”
“Good morning Katie,” my wife replied.
Deborah opened Mr Davies’s door. “Hi Bryan. I’m back. They’re coming over after lunch. We have a chance to brush up on our figures if you have some time to spare.”
“Great Debbie, I always have time for you.”
Deborah closed the door and without a glance back at me marched to her own sales office and closed the door.
Well! He called her Debbie and got away with it. She had clearly not heard the oaf. I once called her Debbie because I was cross with her and was forced to empty the airing cupboard and iron everything.
“Coffee break girls,” Miss Morgan announced.
A general murmur of relief ran around the office. I must say that I felt I it too. I stretched out my legs feeling their unaccustomed nakedness beneath the kilt.
“Not you Linzi, nor you Beckie!”
A red haired girl looked horror struck. I took it that she was Beckie.
“Oh please miss Morgan. I am so sorry. I have rewritten all the letters again.” Beckie stood cowed before Miss Morgan. She also did the same bobbing motion as Kaite.
“Come with me girls,” Miss Morgan announced casually as she headed for Mr Davies’ office.
Beckie looked at me earnestly, but I was helpless. What could I do?
Nothing except follow Beckie into Mr Davies’s office whilst Miss Morgan held the door open for us.
I noticed the other girls were keeping a concerned eye on us as they made their coffee.
“Katie. One coffee for Mr Davies and one tea for me.”
“Yes Miss Morgan,” Katie said.
Miss Morgan closed the door making me feel trapped and vulnerable. There is something odd about having just a little kilt around your legs.
Mr Davies rubbed his face, as if irritated and tired at the same time.
“Katie this is your second visit here this week!”
“Oh yes Mr Davies, but you seeÉ”
“Shut up,” Mr Davies commanded.
Katie shut up and shuffled in her short kilt. At least mine was not that short!
“Yes mister Davies,” Katie whispered her hands hugging her bottom.
“What do you suggest Miss Morgan?”
Katie peered imploringly at Miss Morgan.
The dark haired woman gave that chilling sadistic smile that I had already come to fear. “At least twelve Mr Davies.”
“I fear you are right.” Mr Davies rose and removed his jacket. “Lie over my desk Katie.”
“Yes Mister Davies.”
Katie lay smartly over his desk her cute bottom pushing up her little kilt. Her legs shuffled.
Mister Davies came around and lifted up Katie’s kilt and lay it flat on the small of her back.
She wriggled vulnerably.
Suddenly I realised that Katie was wearing the same white kickers as the ones Deborah had me wear. They had the same little lacy motifs around the legs.
What a coincidence. But one I would certainly not share with Deborah. I was not allowed to look at other women. I could never explain how I came to see Katie’s underwear.
Miss Morgan appeared with a thin long cane and handed it smugly to Mr Davies before stepping back.
“Usual rules Katie. You should know them by heart by now!”
“Yes Mr Davies,” came the muffled voice. She must have buried her face in her arms.
The canning took five minutes. The blows were landed precisely and rhythmically in a slow continuous manner
At first Katie barely reacted but gradually her humphs on each blow gave way to grunts and then to cries.
The poor girl’s backside was layered with neat red tramlines. They looked somehow decorative across the tight white knickers.
During this the door was knocked. Miss Morgan said ‘come in’ and in a totally surreal moment Katie entered with a tray carrying a coffee and tea. She put it on the desk as if what was taking place was the most natural thing in the world. She then stood waiting to be dismissed without catching my eyes or looking at poor Katie.
“Run along,” Miss Morgan barked.
“Yes Miss Morgan, thank you Miss Morgan,” Katie said eager to get out.
The door closed. Mr Davies sipped his coffee and the beating resumed.
At last Mr Davies rested the cane on his desk and rubbed his arm.
“You may rise.” Mr Davies said.
“Yes Mr Davies.” Katie sniffed as she rose stiffly, her hands suspended behind her.
Miss Morgan stepped forward, “don’t you dare even think about touching your bottom you naughty girl.”
“No Miss Morgan.”
I could tell that the poor girl would dearly love to rub her bruised flesh. She held onto the back of her kilt, tugging it.
“Run along,” Miss Morgan said cruelly.
“Yes Miss Morgan. Thank you Mister Davies.”
I did not dare to turn around to see Katie leave. But when the door closed behind her I felt my heart thumping. This did not seem a wise time to complain about the over bearing nature of Miss Morgans’ management style.
“Now then,” Mr Davies stared hard at my name badge, “Linzie. What’s the problem here?”
Now was my chance! “Well there seems to have been a complete misunderstandingÉ”
“Waste of space,” spat Miss Morgan cutting me off. “First nothing but complaints about the uniform.”
“Well I erÉ.” I interjected.
“What is wrong with the uniform Linzie?”
I goldfished, mouth opening and closing but nothing being said. I was desperately trying to find the words. Here I was, a grown man standing before them wearing a kilt that looked more like a skirt, a blouse that was definitely a girls and these socks and shoes. Was he blind?
Mr Davies looked at Miss Morgan in disbelief. “Have any of the other office staff expressed their displeasure with the uniform?”
“Of course not. They love it Mr Davies and are very grateful to you for providing it.”
Mr Davies shook his head sadly as if standing before an ungrateful child.
“There’s plenty more I’m afraid. Atrocious telephone manners.” Continued Miss Morgan.
Mr Davies tutted.
Was this some dreadful joke?
“And worst of all when the sales manager greeted every one, this stuck up little tramp did not even have the good manners to reply.”
Didn’t I? “Oh yes,” I exclaimed, remembering. “She said hello girls. Well clearly I am not a girl?”
Mr Davies slumped onto his desk and stared at me. “Linzie, Linzie, Linzie. What are we going to do with you. A busy manager finds time to greet you all and you do not have the courtesy to even reply.”
Put like that it did sound bad.
“It is worse,” Miss Morgan continued, “when miss Ford then made a special effort to make the new member of staff feel at home not once did Linzie address her as Miss Ford.”
This was crazy. I looked desperately at Mr Davies.
“Linzi. It was made quite clear to you in the contract that you were to address managers as Mister, Miss or mrs.,” Mr Davies said emphatically.
“I didn’t read the contract,” I said sharply. My best defence; ignorance. I felt pleased with myself for scoring a point at long last.
Miss Morgan came up next to me, towering above me and making me shiver. “But I did tell you before you even entered the office. Did I not?”
“Er yes Miss Morgan. Sorry Miss Morgan.”
Mr Davies shook his head, “and I mentioned it to you before that!”
I was defeated. I would have to go along with them until I could find the right words to explain how wrong they were. ” I’m sorry Mr Davies it will not happen again.”
“How many Miss Morgan?” Mr Davies looked inquisitively at Miss Morgan.
“I resign!” I announced quickly. Sod the lot of you, I thought.
Relief flooded through me. I sighed. The nightmare was over.
“How many Miss Morgan?”
“I’ve resigned,” I squeaked, twisting on my low heeled shoes.
“I think we are talking about a major lesson in manners, courtesy and professionalism, Mr Davies.”
Mr Davies nodded sagely. “I think you are right.”
Oh God. Were they deaf? “I told you. I have resigned.”
Miss Morgan sighed loudly. “Still isn’t saying Mr Davies, Mr Davies.”
“I noticed Miss Morgan.”
I felt my cheeks burn and tears formed in my eyes. “Mr Davies, please I have said I resigned.”
“I heard you Linzi. And I accepted. You must now work a months notice. And believe me we will endeavour to send you onto your next employer with at least a modicum of good manners.”
“Please ask Deborah to come in here,” I squealed plaintively.
Mr Davies looked very crossly at me.
“I mean Miss Ford.” I corrected myself. “Please. She will help me.”
Mr Davies lifted up his phone with a sigh and tapped out a number. “Debbie? Hi. Will you join us? I know how busy you are. Some staff problems. Great.” He put down the phone. “She is on her way.”
I felt so relieved. “She will tell you.”
The door opened and my wonderful wife entered. Never was I so pleased to see her!
“DeborahÉ” I began but was smartly cut off.
Mr Davies stood. “Debbie, our new member of staff here has been found to be disobedient, impolite and incompetent. Linzi seems to feel that you will explain to us why she should not be punished.”
“Oh?” Deborah looked quizzically at me. “You know Linzi you do have flights of fantasy above your station.” Deborah giggled. She turned to Mr Davies, “Linzi kept seeing the position as one of a manager.”
They all laughed at me.
“Please Deb, er Miss FordÉ”
“And about time to!” Deborah spoke as if she were an impatient school teacher. “Miss Ford to the likes of all office staff.”
The nightmare was worsening. Why was she doing this. Deborah was capable of teasing me something rotten at home. Several times she had reduced me to tears but then she would give me a big hug and tell me not be silly. Yet here we seemed a million miles away from a hug.
“I’ve heard enough,” Mr Davies announced lifting up the cane. “Thank you Debbie.”
“Thank you Bryan.”
With that my one hope of avoiding this frightful situation walked out of the door.
Oh God. I felt my mind move into a haze. I could not think.
“Bend over the desk Linzie.”
My mind was in turmoil. I did not know what to do. I found myself bending over the desk. My kilt was thrown up at the back revealing my panties to Miss Morgan and Mr Davies. This was horrible.
“Why is Linzie permitted a long skirt Miss Morgan?” I heard Mr Davies ask.
“I’ll correct the matter after lunch Mr Davies.”
“The office cannot look smart if one member is not wearing the regulation uniform Miss Morgan.”
“Quite Mr Davies.”
I heard some movement and then my ordeal began.
The first slash was truly painful. A hot line razored across my buttocks. I think I squealed. The next one came quite close to it and was just as searing. Then the third.
I had a mental image of poor Katie in the same position with her tight white knickers and stripped bottom. I knew that mine was going to look exactly the same. How shameful!
I had not been counting and the strokes went on for ever. Once he had covered my buttocks he moved down to the backs of my thighs. He started just below my knickers and worked slowly down to half way between my bottom and knees. Then he made his way back up again. This was agony.
I squealed and cried like a little girl. Hot tears flooded down my cheeks.
All I wanted was for this chastisement to end. I vowed never be put myself into this position again.
If they wanted me to call them all mr or mrs or miss or sir or even my Lord I would have agreed. Readily and eagerly.
“Thank you Linzie.”
It had been Mr Davies who had spoken. I dared not rise just yet.
Miss Morgan spoke next. “Come on Linzi you are shirking! Back to work!”
I rose as stiff and painful as I can ever remember myself being. My arse and legs were on fire.
As I straightened I felt the kilt drop back over my legs. It tickled the buring irritation at the back of my legs
I went to grip my burning cheeks.
“Now, now, Linzi,” Miss Morgan said warningly. “Little hands are not allowed to touch burning bottoms. It is part of your punishment that you will spend the rest of the day never able to get comfortable on your secretarial chair.”
“Yes Miss Morgan, ” I heard myself whisper.
“Good. Now thank Mr Davies for giving you his valuable time.”
“Thank you mister Davies,” I croaked eager to be out of the room.
“Run along now Linzi and don’t let me see you in here again!”
“No, Mr Davies, thank Mr Davies.”
Tearfully I made my way back to my desk. I needed to go the toilet to dry my eyes and have a surreptitious rub of my enflamed cheeks. But I would not give Miss Morgan the satisfaction of me going without permission. That would leave me open to more punishment. I would show her! I would wait and then put up my hand as Katie had done earlier. Then I would ask permission and no doubt Miss Morgan would feel some sympathy for my plight and let me go immediately
I was not going to let those two bullies get the better of me!
As for Deborah, well, she had a lot of explaining to do.
END OF CHAPTER ONE.