A Nightmare in Silk and Lace Part 1

by: Cordellian

"Do keep up Gemma," snapped Dean Prentice as he exited the courtesy car
with his struggling secretary in tow. "You're slowing me down and in
the cut and thrust world of high finance I can't afford to lag behind.
Fortune favours the fleet of heel after all."

"I'm sorry, Sir, but I've got the laptop, the files and all our
luggage." Gemma had only managed to pile half the bags onto a hotel
luggage trolley before Mr Prentice had set off with a steady and
determined pace towards the front door of the hotel complex.

"Well stop faffing. We don't have time to faff." It was raining now,
much to Dean's irritation, and getting wet wasn't on his itinerary.
"Umbrella, Gemma. Umbrella!"

"Yes, Sir." She retrieved the black umbrella from one of the bags and
snapped it open, passing it to her boss who took it in his right hand.
Dry and comfortable, he watched as Gemma suffered the pelting rain as
she heaved the last few bags in place.

"I hope this is a good hotel. You booked me a full suite?" Dean stared
suspiciously at the enormous complex. In the far distance were well
kept grounds and beyond those a high walled academy of some sort.

"Yes, Sir." Gemma swept some wet strands of her long blonde hair from
her face. The wind combined with the rain to ruin any chance she might
have of looking fresh and professional as she struggled with the mass
of luggage.

"Good. Now remember, we have a busy weekend ahead of us. This Mr Grimm
is very close to signing on the dotted line. The dotted line, Gemma! We
need his investment if the company is to claw its way out of the black
hole labelled 'recession'. I can't stress too much how fucked we are if
Mr Grimm doesn't invest with the Prentice label."

Dean was referring to his own company, the previously successful
Prentice Industries that, since inheriting from his recently deceased
mother, he had managed to drive into the ground through a series of
stunningly inept management decisions. Oblivious to his own
incompetence in the world of business he had blamed all his financial
woes on the credit crunch and global recession. And so it was that he
found himself in the awkward position of needing a re-finance deal at
the worst possible time to seek a re-finance deal. But Prentice
Industries still had some good will from its successful heyday when
Dean's mother had propelled the group through a successful floatation
on Wall Street. Amalgamated Amalgamations - one of the most daring
finance houses - had expressed interest in purchasing shares. All Dean
had to do was smooth the deal to the point of the bottom line.

"Yes, Sir." Gemma pushed the four-wheeled trolley towards the reception
entrance. A doorman wearing old-fashioned livery and a top hat swiped a
card through a badge reader that prompted the doors to swing open with
a flourish. Inside Gemma could see a lavish reception area with marbled
pillars and mosaic floor and an enormous fountain in which swam various
koi carp. Exotic plants grew around the sides of the lobby, basking in
the glow of warm, soft lighting as equally pleasant light classical
music drifted upon the air. The Hotel was one of the most exclusive
buildings in the state of New York. Catering almost exclusively to the
well healed and wallet-rich patrons who expected the best and were
prepared to pay for it, it harked back to the golden age of the early
to mid twenties in New Hampshire, where the bright beautiful people
would dine and play, unaware that the age of elegance would ever end.

"Remember what I told you on the flight over, Gemma. When we're meeting
with Mr Grimm I want you wearing a skirt. A short one. First
impressions and all that." He looked at her current choice of black
trousers and shook his head in a discouraging fashion.

"I'm not really very comfortable wearing a short skirt, Mr Prentice."

"Do I look like I care? You're my secretary. That means the way you
conduct yourself reflects both on the company and my presentation. Men
like Mr Grimm expect to see a secretary in a short skirt."

"But..." Gemma blushed a little.

"No buts. I've said my piece: a short skirt and matching heels. You can
change back into pants when you're in your room."

The girl behind the desk at reception was called Debbie. Dean knew this
because she wore a badge pinned to her tight white blouse that read
'Debbie - here to help'.

"Hello Debbie," said Dean with a predatory smile as he tapped his
fingers on the reception desk front. The girl stood behind the desk on
three-inch heels with little choice in the matter since the hotel had
declined to provide her with a chair. She had light brown hair worn
long, and a perfectly made up face with red pouting lips.

"Hello, Sir." She smiled a bright smile, as she was required to do
whenever a guest spoke to her. Her fingers, each one perfectly
manicured and lacquered with red polish, hovered over the keys of her
computer terminal. "And welcome to the Hotel. My name is Debbie. How
may I make your day better?" It was a rehearsed turn of phrase that the
girl was obliged to recite. Dean of course approved.

"See, Gem-Gem, here's a girl who knows her place." Dean produced the
reservation sheet from the inside left pocket of his suit jacket and
handed it over. Debbie's hands fluttered expertly over the keys as she
confirmed the reservations.

"A deluxe suite for you, Mr Prentice, and a single room for Miss
Layton."

"That's right. Gem-Gem only needs a basic room. She'll be working most
of the weekend. No time for luxuries. Isn't that right, Gem-Gem?"

Gemma sighed and nodded in answer to Mr Prentice's question.

"Everything's in order, Sir. Here are your pass cards." Debbie produced
a pair of plain white bar code Ids, monogrammed simply with the hotel
logo. "These are required to open doors and access the facilities of
the hotel. You're in suite 515, Mr Prentice, and Miss Layton is in room
209."

"Be a good girl, Gem-Gem, and get me a copy of the Times and this
month's GQ magazine from the news stand." Dean waved the passkeys in
the direction of the shopping mall area that stretched out beyond the
confines of the lobby. "And buy yourself two short skirts for the
weekend. Chop-chop."

Dean was in an overwhelmingly good mood as he sat in a comfortable
armchair in the lounge, sipping his glass of Shiraz and gazing with
appreciation at the abundance of stunningly beautiful women who
frequented the hotel. He wore a light linen suit with a charcoal grey
silk shirt underneath, top two buttons undone for added sex appeal to
the ladies. With a connoisseur's eye for the female form, Dean was
beginning to consider the possibilities for the weekend. Business
matters may have brought him to the hotel, but the prospect of
hedonistic pleasure was beginning to beckon too.

In addition to the beautiful and well heeled wives of important guests,
the hotel staff were on the whole incredibly attractive; even more so
when Dean considered the cut and design of their staff uniforms. Short
skirts and tight white blouses seemed to be the order of the day, along
with the occasional flash of a tantalising stocking top. With his hands
out of sight beneath the table, Dean silently slid his wedding ring
from his left hand and pocketed it. The weekend was after all still
young and Dean felt confident that he would be able to lure one of the
impressionable young things into his king size bed. And why not? After
all he was young, handsome, well dressed and wealthy - an irresistible
combination guaranteed to attract girls like bees to honey.

"Mr Prentice..."

"Gem-Gem." Dean regarded his secretary as she appeared beside his sofa
chair. Gemma Layton was a beautiful, if somewhat conventionally minded
woman. With her long blonde hair and slender body she was an extremely
desirable girl, but Dean knew perfectly well that her looks were
accompanied by an old fashioned morality that ruled out casual sex and
experimenting with anything more kinky than wearing soft pink fur
covered toy handcuffs while being fucked in the missionary position
with her eyes closed. Gemma was exactly the sort of woman you could
take home to meet your mother and be sure they would end up swapping
baking tips and talking about the wonderful day when there would be the
patter of little tiny feet in the nursery. If there was any justice in
the world, that sort of 1950s behaviour should be confined to a mousey
and bland librarian girl with spectacles, but by some incredible fluke
of nature Gemma's unadventurous mind had grown up inside a body that
could easily illustrate the pages of FHM magazine. Such a waste.

"I've just received a call from our office that Mr Grimm of Amalgamated
Amalgamations will be arriving any time now. He has suggested an
initial meeting this evening, followed by more in depth talks
tomorrow."

Gemma held her personal organiser folder close to her chest, giving
Dean the opportunity to stare at her breasts without appearing to be a
letch. One of these days he would perhaps make a pass at her, though he
suspected she might be one of those crazy girls who believed in
virginity before marriage.

"Sounds tres chic to me, Gemmie." Dean regarded the knee length skirt
that Gemma had changed into in her room. It was stylish, but perhaps a
little longer than he had in mind. "That skirt." He pointed at it.

"Yes Mr Prentice?" Gemma glanced down at it and smoothed the fabric
with her hands. It was navy blue, neat and very formal. It also hid
much of her legs, which was a real shame. "Do you like it?"

"Don't you have anything a little less frumpy?"

"Frumpy?"

"Yeah, frumpy. Is it too much to expect a glimpse of thigh from you
sometimes, Gemma?"

Gemma blushed and glanced away. She hated the way Mr Prentice would go
on and on about her choice of office wear. "I don't like wearing short
skirts, Mr Prentice. I prefer knee length ones."

"And I prefer skirts that ride a little higher up the thigh. And you
know what's really important here?"

"What is that, Mr Prentice?" She knew what he was going to say now.

"What's important is that I'm the boss and you're not." He rolled his
eyes in a theatrical fashion. "So run upstairs again, chop-chop, and
slip into something a little more practical before Mr Grimm turns up."

Gemma was about to say something in protest but Dean silenced her with
a wave of his hand. "Meanwhile I'm going to browse the hotel shops. I'm
getting bored sitting around waiting. Page me as soon as this guy turns
up."




(Two)

Considering it was just a hotel, the ground floor boasted an impressive
array of shops in its private mall space. Shopping, Dean reflected, was
not just a way of buying things that he didn't really need, but it was
also an opportunity to display just how wealthy he was to girls who
appreciated that kind of man. And so Dean found himself in a gift shop,
browsing a wide selection of designer things that people bought just
for the sake of buying. Dean selected a Gucci travel bag, Rolex watch
and a new Ipod and headed towards the nearest available counter. As he
got there a huge man, practically bulging out of a tailored pin-striped
suit slipped ahead of him. The man's arms were long and each one ended
in a wide hand that could probably crush a melon.

"Hey there, Mr Monkey Man." Dean stepped neatly in front of the
newcomer. "No pushing in. I was here first."

The man turned his gaze on Dean, visibly annoyed at the monkey comment.
"You're wrong on that account. I was already being served, but I had to
step outside to pick up my hotel swipe card. I dropped it on the way in
to this store. I was only gone for twenty seconds. The girl was about
to ring up my purchases." He glanced at the shop girl behind the
counter who nodded in his direction.

"Sorry, mate, but that's not my problem. There was an empty counter and
I walked up to it. If you left the store, then that's your look out.
You join the queue when you return, you don't barge past me." Dean
pointed to the space behind where he stood.

"I was already part way through my purchase. I only went to pick up my
swipe card so the purchase could be charged to my room," explained the
man with as much politeness as he could muster.

"Yeah, well, I'm here now." Dean turned his attention back to the dark
haired girl. "Charge the watch and sundries to my room, love. Never
mind the ape."

"You, Sir, have a distinct lack of manners." The man glared daggers at
Dean.

"And you must have a real problem finding sleeves long enough for those
gorilla arms of yours," said Dean, thoroughly enjoying himself. "I'm
surprised there's anything here that will fit you."

A rather stern looking woman suddenly interrupted the proceedings. In a
clipped and efficient Russian accent she addressed her employer: "Phone
call from Berlin, Sir. Much commotion and excitement as expected. Deal
has gone through without problem, Mr Grimm." She paused to stare
suspiciously at Dean who, in turn offered a cheeky smile, at least
until the penny suddenly clicked. Did she say Mr Grimm? Dean did a
double take. This man was Mr Grimm? This man was the person he wanted
to talk into buying shares in his company and thereby save his business
from ruin? Suddenly the ground seemed to open up and swallow him whole.
If it was true, Dean was supposed to be walking into a business meeting
with him later tonight.

"What?" Mr Grimm could see that Dean had suddenly gone quiet and was
staring at him with an expression that resembled an open mouth guppy
fish hoping to catch plankton.

"I..."

"Yes?" Mr Grimm had taken an extreme dislike to this trendy and
arrogant man. He had met his sort before, often in the sales or
marketing department of some company that Amalgamated Amalgamations
chose to take over. He always made it his first job as new Managing
Director to fire people like Dean.

"I think you had better go before me after all..." But of course it was
too late for that. Much too late. Dean left the shop with a horrible
sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.



(Three)

"This is a disaster, Gemma. My life is in ruins. We may as well go back
home and prepare for bankruptcy." Dean sat in the lounge, his head
dipped between his hands as he considered the depths to which his
fortunes had just sunk. "Do you know where I can get a gun? I may need
to shoot myself."

"What on earth is the matter, Mr Prentice?" Gemma had never seen her
boss like this before. "We haven't even met Mr Grimm yet."

"Well I have. And I think I said some very unflattering things to his
face. Very unflattering."

"Oh, Mr Prentice!" Gemma's hand went to her mouth. "Why would you do a
thing like that? We need his investment. You know that. That's why
we're here. Prentice Industries is ruined without his money."

"I didn't know it was him." Dean groaned and sat down as Gemma poured
him a fresh cup of coffee from the jug. "He got in my way, I told him
to queue behind me and, well, we exchanged some words..."

"Bad ones?"

"Very bad, Gem-Gem. There's no point in meeting with him now. As soon
as he sees my face he'll know I'm the head of the company and it'll all
be over."

"Wait." Gemma looked up. "Do you mean he doesn't actually know who you
are, Sir?"

"Well, no, no he doesn't. But that doesn't matter. He'll recognise me
in the meeting."

"You don't understand, Sir. So he doesn't know you're Dean Prentice?"

"That's right. What's your point, Gemma?"

"He doesn't know that you have any connection with the company he's
considering investing in?"

"Gemma... if you have some clever idea then let's just hear it.
Otherwise I'm going to need a very heavy weight to hold when I jump
into the deep end of the swimming pool here."

"Well, it strikes me, Mr Prentice, that he'll only walk out of the
meeting if he recognises you."

"Yes, but then he will recognise me, won't he? I'm sure his memory for
faces is up to the job."

"Not if you look significantly different. He's expecting Prentice and
Layton, yes?"

"Yes."

"And he hasn't spoken to you before on the phone?"

"No, he hasn't."

"Well there you are then." Gemma looked very pleased with herself.
"I've just saved the business."

"Can you be any less clear?" sighed Dean as he began to consider how
heavy a weight he was going to need.

"It's simple, Sir. The agenda for the meeting unfortunately had a
mistake in it that saves us. What we meant to send him was a correct
agenda that informs him he'll be meeting with Chief Executive Miss
Gemma Layton, and Deanna Prentice."

Dean looked very taken aback. "That's a ridiculous idea, Gemma. No
one's going to believe you're a Chief Executive. I'm obviously the
Chief Executive."

"No Sir, of course you're not. We don't want Mr Grimm focussing all his
attention on you. I'll pose as the Chief Executive. You'll still be in
the meeting of course to steer me in the right direction with pre-
arranged signs, but he'll think he's dealing with me."

"But he's still going to recognise me. When he does he'll simply walk
out of the door."

"He won't recognise you, Sir, because you'll be the other person on the
agenda: Deanna Prentice, my secretary."

"Wait a minute. What do you mean, Deanna... That's a girl's name."

"Yes, Sir. It's a brilliant idea, isn't it?" Gemma gave him a warm
smile.

"Maybe I'm a bit slow right now, on account of the fact my life is
suddenly ruined, but are you suggesting I should dress up like you?"

"It's the perfect disguise, Sir. If you look like a woman there's no
chance he'll recognise you as the man who insulted him this morning.
You have to be in the meeting, Sir, but you'll need to look radically
different. So... a woman."

"It's crazy. I won't do it. I won't!" Dean waved his hands in a
dismissive manner.

Gemma sighed. "Then the banks will foreclose on the loans and you'll
lose your company, Sir, and all your money. Perhaps in time you'll be
able to get a junior clerk's job in an office somewhere. It won't be
the same of course..."

Dean frowned and considered his options. There was really only one
choice he could make. "But no skirt, Gemma."

"Of course not, Sir," said Gemma with a wry smile and a knowing tap of
her HB pencil.



(Four)

Dean couldn't go any further. His feet ground to a halt and he turned
away just as he was about to place his hand on the door. "I can't do
this. I just can't." The impulse to bolt for safety was overwhelming.

"What do you mean?" Gemma was beside him in an instant. "It's just some
hair extensions, Mr Prentice. It's not like you're going for an
operation. What on earth is the problem?"

"There's a girl in there." Dean nodded in the direction of the store
front window, through which the stylist could be clearly seen waiting
for her next appointment to arrive. Across the window, in transparent
lettering, was the name of the shop: The Primp and Get Nailed Salon.
Dean could see that vibrant shades of pink seemed to be the order of
the day when it came to interior design within the salon.

"Of course there's a girl in there. She's the stylist. She works
there." Gemma placed her hand reassuringly on Dean's arm. "You just
have to go in there and..."

"I can't. I can't say it. Not to her. I can't ask for hair extensions."
Dean's face was now a bright shade of red. Gemma was trying hard not to
laugh.

"Would you like me to speak to her, Mr Prentice? Would you like me to
make the arrangements?" Her voice was soft and reassuring. Dean nodded
like a young child who desperately wanted his mother to stand in for
him. "Come on then."

The door chimed as they walked in. The salon was small, but very clean
and brightly lit. Most of the room was taken up by two wash basins and
chairs, but there was also a two seater sofa next to a coffee machine
and one corner of the salon was reserved for a nail counter. The
stylist smiled at her clients as she rose from the sofa and moved to
greet them both.

"Hello, I'm Kimberley." Her eyes automatically glanced towards Gemma.
"Miss Prentice, yes? For Three o'clock?"

"Mr Prentice, actually," replied Gemma with a smile as she indicated
Dean, still a distinct shade of beetroot red.

"Oh." Kimberley looked surprised, but not too surprised. "But you're
down for hair extensions?"

Gemma could feel Dean twitch and, before he could bolt for the door,
she gripped him firmly by the elbow. It was enough to restrain him from
fleeing at top speed, if only for the moment.

"Perhaps I'd better explain things quietly over a cup of coffee." Gemma
gently steered Dean towards the sofa where he sat down with an air of
frightened resignation, as his secretary then conferred quietly with
the stylist. Her explanation and instructions lasted for several
minutes, punctuated by several smiling glances in Dean's direction,
mostly to ensure he wasn't moving from the spot or considering running
away.

The way Dean was feeling now he desperately wanted the ground to open
up and swallow him whole. He was very conscious of the glass front to
the salon, and how it faced the main lobby on the ground floor of the
hotel. Guests and staff walked past from time to time and in his
imagination he could see them all looking in. None of them knew him of
course, but that wasn't really the point.

"There, Mr Prentice," Gemma sat down next to him and took his hands in
hers while she spoke to him as if he was a young boy scared to face his
first day at school. "I've done all the talking for you. You don't have
to say anything if you don't want to. Kimberley will add the extensions
and once she's finished you can go back to your hotel room.
Actually..." she considered things for a moment. "Go to my hotel room
instead. It's probably not a good idea for you to be seen staying in
Dean Prentice's room from now on. We'll swap rooms and I'll move in to
yours."

"What about my things?"

"Silly." Gemma patted his hands. "I'll bring everything over when I'm
back, won't I?"

"Back?" Dean looked up in alarm. "Back from where? You're not going to
leave me here? Not alone?"

"I have to get some things for you, don't I? I checked on the Internet
and there's a speciality shop close by that I can get to before it
closes. It sells foundation garments for cross dressers."

"What?" Dean's eyes resembled those of a frightened rabbit caught in a
car's headlamps.

"Foundation garments. To give you a woman's shape. You don't want to
look like a man in drag, do you, Mr Prentice?"

"Well, no, but..."

"Because if you'd prefer to look like a man in drag..."

"No!" Dean glanced around and began whispering. "And please keep your
voice down." He was conscious that Kimberley seemed to be busy sorting
out her equipment, but it was a small salon, and the way Gemma was
talking, surely anyone in the room could hear her. Dean glanced at the
girl. Perhaps it was his imagination but she seemed to be smiling a bit
too much.

"Then foundation garments are necessary." Gemma patted his hands again.
"I'll only be gone for a couple of hours. You'll be fine. Lots of men
have long hair. No one will think anything of it when you walk through
the lobby. You'll be like a rock star."

"I suppose so..." But deep down Dean took reassurance from Gemma being
with him. He really didn't like the idea of sitting in the salon
without her. "Please come back as quickly as you can, Gem-Gem."

"Of course I will." She got up to go, but before she reached the door,
Dean rushed over to her.

"Gemma, what... what did you say to the stylist? About me, I mean.
About the hair extensions?"

"Oh, Mr Prentice, we really haven't got time for this right now. I've
got to get going, otherwise I won't get to the store in time. It closes
at four on Saturdays." She gave him a determined look and pushed him
gently back into the salon room. "Now behave yourself while I'm gone."
With a girly wiggle of her fingers she left Dean to Kimberley's care.

Minutes later Dean was seated in the plastic swivel chair with a pink
nylon sheet over his body. Kimberley was washing his hair in some
scented shampoo. Close by were long bundles of human hair - the very
best.

"Just relax," she said as she began to towel his damp hair. "I can see
from the way your shoulders are hunched that you're feeling very
tense."

Dur... of course I'm feeling tense, thought Dean to himself. "I'm
not... I'm not used to this." He couldn't help but glance out through
the window. It didn't seem that anyone was paying him any attention,
but even so...

"Well, we'll have you looking pretty in no time." Kimberley picked up
the first length of hair and began to attach it to Dean's own. It was
longer than he expected - thirty inches in length - and he couldn't
help noticing it was a different shade to his own hair.

"The colour doesn't match," he blurted out.

"It doesn't have to. Once you have the extensions in place I'll colour
your hair so it's the same colour throughout. Don't worry. Gemma
explained everything you need earlier on."

Dean tried to relax while the lengths of hair were added. His head was
feeling heavier now as his new glossy mane grew in stages. Like many
modern men he was unfamiliar with the way long hair felt and he wasn't
sure he liked it.

"There, now I'm just going to apply the colour lotion and then you can
sit back for ten minutes and read a magazine." Kimberley set to work
with a cold, funny smelling liquid. It had a chemical like smell and
required a plastic cap that Kimberley smoothed down over the crown of
his head. "Marie Claire or Cosmo?" she asked with a smile.

"I really don't..."

"Try Marie Claire. You look like a Marie Claire girl." She thrust the
glossy magazine into Dean's hands before he could protest. His scalp
felt cold from the lotion as he sat there staring glumly at the fashion
pages in the centre of the magazine. This was such a stupid idea. What
was he thinking to have agreed to this? He had half a mind when all
this was over to simply pack his bags and leave. But if he did, his
business, the business his father and mother had built up over fifty
years, would be ruined. He had to acquire the emergency funding.

His train of thoughts were interrupted when Kimberley removed the
plastic cap and allowed his damp hair to tumble free. What Dean saw
sent a shiver through his body. His once light brown hair was now
bleached peroxide blonde. Girly peroxide blonde. For a moment he was
speechless, and then he couldn't stop babbling.

"My hair... it's... it's... what have you done to me...?"

"Gemma told me you wanted to go blonde." Kimberley was a little taken
aback by the look of shock on Dean's face. "That's what you paid for."

Dean ran his hands through the heavy, damp locks of hair that were now
part of his own scalp. Blonde - platinum blonde. The hair felt very
heavy as it ran through his fingers.

"I'll need to shape it." Kimberley brushed Dean's hands away as she
reached for a pair of scissors and a comb. "If you don't mind, Sir."

Dean was livid. Blonde! Peroxide, platinum blonde! What did that bitch,
Gemma, think she was playing at? She was in a lot of trouble now. Oh
yes, she was. When all this was over he was going to take considerable
satisfaction in firing her stupid ass. And with the reference he'd be
supplying to any prospective employer, it would be a cold day in Hell
before she ever held any job that didn't involve cleaning floors or
flipping burgers. She'd be out on her ear with the minimum of notice.
Actually, no notice. This was surely grounds for instant dismissal for
serious misconduct. Dean was so deep in thought as to what he'd do to
Gemma, that Kimberley had almost finished by the time he realised what
she was doing with her scissors and comb. She had cut a neat girl's
fringe in a set of bangs that fell to just a centimetre above his
eyebrows. The hairstyle that stared back at him in the mirror was
unmistakeably a girl's hairstyle. No man would ever wear a cut like
that, let alone have hair colour like that.

Dean's fingers gripped the armrests in disbelief as Kimberley set to
work with a hair drier. Before long his new glossy and overtly feminine
hair was finished.

"You look lovely," she said as she replaced the bow drier. "When you're
ready, I'll start on your nails."

"My nails?" Dean span round in the chair. "What about my nails?"

"Gemma paid for a manicure and a coat of polish. To be honest, your
nails do need it."

"Polish? I don't want..."

"It's clear nail varnish," explained Kimberley with a sigh. "No one's
going to notice it."

Dean wasn't quite so sure, but he let Kimberley lead him over to the
table where she set to work filing his nails down. As he watched, she
glanced up and said, "Look, there's only so much I can do with your
nails. They're not in a very good state. You bite them, don't you?"

"Well..."

"I can tell you do. What I'm going to recommend is acrylic false
nails..."



(Five)

"Mr Prentice!" Gemma stared with barely concealed amusement at Dean as
he visibly cringed. They were in the small room that had originally
been booked for Gemma. Dean's hair looked lovely, though it was
unmistakeably a young girl's hairstyle. Platinum blonde with bangs, and
if she wasn't mistaken, Kimberley had also thinned his eyebrows. The
effect was remarkable. Of course Dean didn't look too happy about it.
He was also doing his best to conceal his hands behind his back.
Curious now, Gemma motioned with her fingers. "Hands, please, Mr
Prentice. Now, if you don't mind."

Reluctantly Dean showed her the perfect set of French polished effect
false nails that were permanently glued to his own. Obviously the
session with the stylist had proven far more productive than she had
originally envisaged. And to complete the effect, Dean's ears were
pierced. Pretty hoop earrings dangled enticingly from each lobe. They
jingled softly each time he moved his head.

"Look what that bitch did to me," cried Dean. "I can't go out like
this! It was a nightmare just getting back to this room. Everyone I
passed in the corridors stopped and stared at me."

"That's because you have the body of a man and the hair and nails of a
woman, Mr Prentice. But now we're going to fix all of that." Gemma
emptied the contents of her two carrier bags onto the small single bed.
"You'll need to undress."

He did so in silent protest, one eye on the menagerie of foundation
garments and lingerie that Gemma had procured from The Transformation
Shop on Westbury Avenue. Everything looked pink and pearl white and
frilly and soft and satin like. Well, almost everything. There was also
a fierce looking corset and some sort of supple plastic sheath with
clip fastenings at either end. Gemma prepared the corset as Dean
stripped himself down to his boxer shorts. She walked behind him and
clipped the corset around his waist, gathering the thongs in her right
hand. "Breathe in, Mr Prentice." She gave the thongs a tight pull as
she braced herself and pushed against Dean. There was a reassuring
squeal of protest, followed by deep gasps as she tugged again and again
and again.

"Please!" He cried. "That's too tight!" Dean staggered back to relieve
the pressure, but Gemma was having none of it.

"Not yet, Mr Prentice, Sir. Just an inch more." She tugged again and
brought his waist down to a respectable 26 inches. Then, with supple
dexterity, she quickly tied and secured the thongs, holding Mr Prentice
in place.

"Fucking hell! I can't breathe!"

"Yes you can, just take short girlish breaths. You'll get used to it,
Mr Prentice." She patted his bottom reassuringly as he crouched,
doubled over, breathing quickly and desperately.

"Now, these will have to come off too, Mr Prentice." She tugged
playfully at his boxer shorts. "We have to fit your restraint."

"My what?"

By way of answer Gemma showed Dean the supple plastic sheath with the
clip fastenings that matched similar clips above the crotch and rear
ends of the corset. "It's quite simple, Mr Prentice. You slide your
penis into this sheath and then it's drawn back between your legs and
secured to either end of the corset, giving you a lovely smooth panty
line."

"What?!" Dean stared at the sheath in horror. "I'm not wearing that!"

"Oh." Gemma looked surprised as she shrugged and put the sheath away.
"I'm sorry, Sir. I thought you'd prefer to wear trousers instead of a
skirt. Still, if you'd prefer a skirt..." She turned to the wardrobe
where several secretarial pencil skirts were hanging.

"Wait a minute. What do you mean by that? Of course I want to wear
trousers." Dean looked alarmed at the thought of wearing a skirt and
the inevitable matching stockings.

"Well, trousers can't be seen to have a bulge, Mr Prentice. Women's
pants are cut quite snugly at the crotch, so your package, so to speak,
needs to be pulled tightly between your legs, out of the way. You need
a smooth panty line. Of course if you prefer to wear a skirt then you
don't have to worry about that..."

"I don't want to wear a skirt! This damnable corset is bad enough."

Gemma smiled. "Then you'll need the sheath restraint. Boxer shorts
please..." Her voice and manner was super efficient as always. Before
Dean could protest further, she whipped his underwear down and revealed
a semi-erect penis. It wasn't a very impressive sight - decidedly below
average in Gemma's experience, but she was polite enough not to
comment. "Oh, Mr Prentice. You look a little bit excited."

Dean blushed again. "I'm taking my clothes off in front of you. I can't
help it."

Gemma gave his half mast member a playful stroke and watched it jerk
stiffer still. Despite the increased rigidity it didn't seem to grow a
great deal bigger in girth or length.  "Well, what are we going to do
about this? It needs to be limp before I can fit the restraining
sheath."

"I really don't like the sound of that. Isn't there some other way?"

"It's this or a skirt. Your choice, Mr Prentice." She deliberately
selected the shortest, tightest secretarial skirt from the wardrobe and
showed it to her boss.

"Sheath," he moaned softly.

"What was that, Sir?" Gemma pretended not to have heard.

"Restraint sheath," he added by way of confirmation.

"You want me to fit you with a restraint sheath to hide your penis,
Sir?" Now she acted as if she wasn't sure she understood.

"Yes." Dean squirmed horribly. The corset was still extremely
uncomfortable. Even talking was leaving him out of breath.

"Well then. You'll need to do something about that." She pointed at his
now mostly erect member. It was difficult to be sure without using a
ruler, but Gemma estimated somewhere between four and four and a half
inches in length.

"Like what? It doesn't go down of its own accord."

"Well then, make it."

"You can't be serious?" Dean stared at her in embarrassment.

"Well, you can't expect me to help you, Sir. It's really not in my job
description." Gemma crossed her arms and tapped her foot impatiently.
"Sooner rather than later, Mr Prentice. You do want me to go down to
the shop in the hotel lobby and buy you a pants suit to wear tomorrow,
yes? It's just that it closes at six tonight."

"Yes," said Dean miserably as he sat back down on the edge of the bed
and cupped his penis and balls in his right hand. "Do you have to
watch?"

"I can look away, Sir." Gemma turned her attention to the wall. It was
a very small bedroom, she thought to herself. Dean's suite of rooms
upstairs was much nicer. Especially with the grand balcony overlooking
the grounds below, and the enormous bathroom with a bath big enough for
three people to lie down in comfort, which now that she thought about
it, spoke volumes about the kind of businessmen who paid for it. It was
quite a relief that the suite belonged to her now. She listened
silently to the furious rubbing and stroking and the little moans and
sighs coming from Dean as he masturbated himself towards climax. A
minute or two later there was a sharp gasp, followed by another gasp
and then a breathless and timid sigh. It all sounded a bit pathetic
really. "Finished?" she asked, without looking.

"Yes," came the rather subdued response.

Gemma turned round and saw long beads of semen on the carpet between
Dean's legs. A few drops continued to drip from his now flaccid penis.
With the evidence literally under his feet, Dean felt extremely
humiliated, and couldn't meet Gemma's gaze.

"Mr Prentice! You have made quite a mess, haven't you?" Gemma fetched a
face flannel from the sink, wet it, and passed it to Dean. "Clean
yourself up." She stood there, arms folded again as he wiped his crotch
and mopped the carpet. "Stand up. Hands clasped together at the back of
your neck."

That last bit wasn't strictly necessary, but Gemma recognised that Dean
was temporarily too abashed to protest at anything, and she rather
liked the look of her boss in such a submissive position. She took hold
of his limp penis and slid it into the sheath. The thongs were pulled
tight, drawing his manhood back, trapping it between his legs. He would
still be able to pee, but only when sitting down like a girl. The
thongs were neatly tied and then the clasps were clipped in place
against the corresponding catches at the bottom of the corset, securing
crotch piece to foundation garment. Both clasps clicked shut with sharp
locking sounds. The sheath had come with a single key, which she had
already pocketed on the sly. "There, all tucked away out of sight. You
look a lot neater already."

"I can't feel my cock!" Dean stroked the plastic sheath. Although the
plastic seemed thin, it totally desensitised what lay strapped in
place. It was scary how smooth he now seemed between his legs. The
catch at the back had a small flap which settled over the ends of the
corset thongs, making them inaccessible until the crotch piece was
removed. Effectively the corset was now secured and impossible to
remove short of cutting it off. That would prove more difficult than it
seemed as the corset was reinforced with flexible bands of poly-
carbonate to produce the rigidity.

"Well of course you can't, Mr Prentice. That is the point after all."
Gemma placed her hands on Dean's hips and turned him round. His bottom
was still accessible - a supple sheath band rested against the crack of
his ass, but this could easily be pushed aside by her fingers. Dean
squealed again as he felt her do this.

"What are you doing?"

"Just making sure your toilet facilities aren't impeded, Sir. But I
need to be sure."

She pushed Dean forward and kicked his feet wider apart. He was forced
to lean with his hands pressed down on the edge of the bed to support
his weight while Gemma removed a rubber dildo from the second carrier
bag. It was the medium size 'Penetrator' and promised 'supple pleasure
for the moderately experienced male'. She lubricated the end of it with
a tube of jelly, and smoothed the blackberry size drop of lube over the
tip of the Penetrator until it was nice and slippery. It was much
bigger than the thing that she had seen sticking up from between Dean's
legs. Now Dean tried to push himself up, but it was a simple matter for
Gemma to press down on his back with her left hand and hold him there.

"Please don't fidget, Mr Prentice. I really need to check that your
anal passage isn't obstructed by the rear strap of the cock restraint."

"Gemma!"

But Gemma paid him no attention. She simply touched Dean's anal hole
with the cold lubricated tip of the dildo and pushed hard. There was a
howl of protest as Dean bucked suddenly against the bed, but with his
legs spread wide and leaning forward, off balance, he wasn't able to
prevent Gemma from pushing the dildo deep inside his ass.

"Gemma! For God's sake, woman!"

"The good news, Sir, is your anal passage is unobstructed by the sheath
belt."

"I know! I bloody know!" Tears ran down his face. "Take it out!"

"A lot of men like this sort of thing, Sir." Gemma pulled the
penetrator back out, which elicited another yelp of astonishment from
Dean. "I took the liberty of purchasing a butt plug attachment that
clips onto the rear strap of the restraint. Apparently it helps you
walk more like a sissy, and less like a man." She rummaged in the
carrier bag again and pulled it out. It was bright pink with a loop
attachment at one end that hooked onto the belt.

"Gemma, don't you dare!" He felt the tip of the butt plug press against
his asshole.

"But your walk will give you away, Mr Prentice. Even though you'll be
dressed like a secretary, you'll still walk like a man. Just imagine if
Mr Grimm, or anyone else for that matter, recognises that you're really
a man. How horrible would that be?"

Dean trembled at the thought. No matter how humiliating it was to
disguise himself as a girl, it paled in insignificance against the
possibility of a man seeing through his disguise. That he could never
live down.

"But if you don't mind everyone thinking that you're a sissy instead of
a girl... well, it's very brave of you. People will laugh and point at
you, I suppose. But if you aren't worried about that..."

"I don't want anyone to know I'm really a man!" Dean tried to get up
again, but Gemma refused to let him while his bottom was still
unplugged.

"Well they will as soon as they see you walking. It's either that or
the butt plug." She let the choice hang in the air.

"Please..."

"Please what, Mr Prentice? What do you want?"

Dean sobbed - a virtually broken man. "The butt plug."

"What? Can you be clearer, Sir?"

"I want the butt plug."

"You want me to insert a butt plug into your bottom and secure it to
the rear strap of your restraint belt? I just need to be sure what you
want, Sir. I'm only doing what you want after all."

"Yes. I want you to insert a butt plug into my ass." Dean couldn't
believe he was actually saying that.

"And you want me to secure it? We can't have it slipping out now, can
we? It'll need to be attached to the belt."

"Yes, yes! Just let me up!"

"In a moment, Sir." Gemma didn't bother to lubricate the butt plug.
Frankly she was beginning to find his childish protests very tiring,
and as far as she was concerned he didn't seem to appreciate the
serious effort she was making to help him out of a situation that could
have ruined his company. Well, if he was going to act all spoilt and
childish, he could have a rubber butt plug without any lubrication. She
pushed it in hard and had to press down with her left hand as he bucked
in protest again. The plug attachment was very well made and clipped
neatly to the rear strap of the belt. This catch didn't lock, as the
plug would have to be removed whenever Dean required the toilet.

"I hate this!"

Gemma slapped his bare bottom.

"Ow! What the fuck did you do that for?!"

"You're acting childish, Mr Prentice. And I'm getting very tired of it.
Now, do you want me to help you or not?" She took her weight from his
back and allowed him to get up.

"Yes. Yes, I do."

"Then you're going to have to moderate your behaviour. Otherwise I'll
simply go back upstairs and you can do everything else yourself. Would
you prefer to go to the women's boutique in the lobby yourself? Would
you like to ask the helpful girl there to help you select a pants
suit?"

"No, please Gemma, no. I can't go down there, not like this."

"Well then." She crossed her arms and tapped her foot again, as if
waiting for something.

"What?" Dean looked nervously at her.

"I think someone owes someone else an apology, don't you, Mr Prentice?"

"I'm sorry."

"Good. Now what else do we have." She rummaged in the second carrier
bag and produced some luxury silk stockings. "For you. The corset has
suspenders for the stockings. Now, you roll the stockings up into balls
and place your feet in them and then slowly and smoothly draw them up
your legs. I'll help you with the suspenders this time, but you're
going to have to get used to fixing them in future."

"In future? How long do you think the meeting is going to go on for!
I'm only going to be wearing them tonight and tomorrow."

"Mr Prentice. I warned you." Gemma turned and walked towards the door.

"I'm sorry! Please don't go!"

"I've really had enough, Sir."

"Please. I said I'm sorry. This meeting is very important. I can't do
this without you."

"I know you said you're sorry. But you also said that several minutes
ago. It doesn't really seem to mean much from you, Sir."

"Please."

Gemma considered this state of affairs for a minute or two. She was
almost ready to walk out, but Mr Prentice did look the very picture of
desperation. Should she give him one more chance? "I really should just
leave, you know."

"Gemma, I'll give you a 25% rise in pay. Please."

"It's not just the money."

"45% and a promotion. I'll make you manager of the secretarial pool."

"In writing please." Gemma handed him a sheet of paper and a pen and
watched as he scribbled furiously and signed it. "Thank you." But she
still looked dubious. "You're going to have to improve your behaviour
from now on, otherwise I really will leave."

"Anything. Anything."

"Bend back down over the bed, like you were before. Weight leaning on
your hands, and feet spread apart."

"What?"

"Last chance, Sir." Gemma watched as Dean hurried to comply.

"I really hoped I wouldn't need this, Sir, but the girl in the
Transformation store said it was often necessary." She produced a
supple riding crop from the first bag and swished it in the air.

"Gemma!"

"Quiet, Mr Prentice. The girl was very helpful when I bought the corset
and restraint belt for you, but she did say I would probably have to
use this if you began playing up. Personally I think it's quite
barbaric to have to switch a man on his bottom, so I'm not at all happy
that you're making me do his."

"I'm not making you do anything! Gemma!"

"One more protest, Mr Prentice and I walk out through the door and you
can buy your own clothes at the boutique."

Dean was suddenly silent.

"Good." She flexed the crop experimentally and was pleased with the way
it bent. Then, with considerable reluctance, she gave Mr Prentice six
heavy stokes across his exposed ass cheeks. To her surprise he howled
after each one. It was obviously more painful than it looked. Once she
finished (the girl had said that six strokes was a good number for a
sissy's first beating), Gemma hung the crop from a coat peg on the door
where Mr Prentice would be able to see it from now on. It was in plain
view of the bed, and it would be the first thing he saw each morning
upon waking up. The girl had suggested that too. "You'll find a sissy
will be considerably more compliant and polite in future if he is
reminded that the crop is there to be used when necessary." Gemma
thought it was perhaps a touch mediaeval, but then the girl was the
expert on such matters, not her. "You can get up now, Mr Prentice, but
don't rub your bottom.

"But it hurts!"

"Of course it does." She sighed. Really, he did have a habit of stating
the obvious. "Now, stockings if you please."

Dean now complied quickly, though he winced once or twice as he sat
down to roll them up his legs. Gemma was as good as her word and showed
him how to straighten the old fashioned seams before clipping the
stockings to the garter straps. "There should be enough panties to last
you a couple of weeks without laundry, Mr Prentice." She up-ended the
remaining contents of the second bag onto the bed. A mass of frilly
panty lace spilled out around him. "You'll notice they've all got days
written on the front. Today is Saturday, so for example you'll be
wearing the one labelled 'Saturday'."

Dean slid the proffered panties up his legs and shivered at the
strangely erotic sensation of frilly lace being drawn up over snug
stockings. The effect on his face wasn't lost to Gemma who simply
frowned in disapproval.

"Are you enjoying this, Mr Prentice?" she asked with some suspicion.

"No! Of course not!"

"You're sure?"

"Yes, of course I'm sure."

"Good. I have a very low opinion of men who secretly want to dress up
as women."

"I'm not one of them!" Dean tried not to rub his stocking-clad thighs
together as he said that. To his growing horror he began to recognise
that the stockings actually felt... nice. More than nice in fact. His
trapped penis received a sudden rush of blood but was unable to grow in
its tight confinement. The resulting effect was highly frustrating and
very uncomfortable.

"So, there's just one last thing missing, and then you'll have the body
of a typical secretary. Can you guess what it is?"

Dean shook his head. He was afraid to even guess. How much worse could
it possibly get."

"Ta-dah!" Gemma produced a pair of realistic and very expensive
silicone breast forms.

"No... please, no..." Dean actually retreated a few inches along the
bed.

"I'm not going to have a flat-chested secretary, Mr Prentice. It just
wouldn't look right."

She applied a layer of firm bonding glue to the underside of each
breast form. Dean squeezed his eyes shut as Gemma stuck them to his
skin one at a time. They were as heavy as real breasts, and
considerably bigger than Gemma's real ones. She had wanted to purchase
a more modest size for Mr Prentice, but sadly the store had sold out of
anything smaller than a Double D cup in the highest price range. Mr
Prentice deserved only the best of course, so she didn't insult his
tastes by purchasing a small size in a cheaper range.

"You may find the bra a bit fiddly to begin with." She helped him cup
each of the breast forms into a lacy bra which she then secured behind
his back. "But it's something you're going to have to get used to. I
won't always be around when you get dressed, and believe me, you'll be
very uncomfortable with breasts that size unless you wear a bra."

"They're very big."

"Are they?" Gemma pretended she hadn't noticed. "I suppose they are a
bit bigger than mine. Still, you are a secretary now, Sir." Gemma
hadn't read the leaflet that came with the glue, but if she had she
would have discovered that the bonding agent was permanent. Eventually
the breast forms would loosen as skin cells flaked away, but it would
be several weeks before that happened.



(Six)

"We have a problem," explained Gemma as she returned from the lobby.
"Or rather you do."

"What do you mean, a problem?" Dean looked anxious. He sat on the edge
of his new single bed, trying hard to regulate his breathing with the
corset secured tightly around his stomach. He felt constricted and
uncomfortable, and as for the thing gripping his penis and pulling it
tightly between his legs... it was impossible to ignore.

"The shop in the lobby has closed. I thought it was open until six, but
it closes early on a Saturday."

"You haven't bought me a trouser suit?" said Dean with alarm.

"I can't until Monday. I'm sorry. We should have checked the opening
hours when we went to the salon."

"YOU should have checked the opening hours..." Dean squirmed on the
edge of the bed. Damn this corset. He had to get out of it. He stood up
and began to fiddle uselessly with the catch at the back where the cock
restraint was firmly attached. Try as he might he couldn't make it
budge.

"What are you doing?" asked Gemma suspiciously. Dean gave up and began
to try the catch at the front of the corset instead where the restraint
was similarly secured. There too it proved impervious to his desperate
fingers. With the catches still in place, he was unable to find the
ends of the laces. They too were secured by the leather sheath.

"Mr Prentice, please stand still and stop fiddling with your corset!"
Gemma's voice was suddenly sharp and matronly. Despite himself, Dean
stopped in surprise. "Now we're going to have to work around this. With
the corset on you've got a very similar body shape to mine. You can
wear some of my clothes."

"Your clothes?"

"That's what I said. Really Mr Prentice, it doesn't help if you keep
repeating everything I tell you." Seeing his hands stray towards the
security catches on the cock restraint, she slapped at his hand and
elicited a yelp of surprise from her employer. "I said stop playing
with your corset! Am I going to have to spank you?"

"What?" Dean took a step back in surprise. "Don't be ridiculous." What
had got into Gemma? If he hadn't decided to fire her before over the
incident with the hair style, he certainly would now. In fact it was
just a shame that he could only fire her the once.

"If you fiddle with the lock on the cock restraint..."

"Lock! What lock?" Dean's hands flew back to the catch at the front. No
wonder he couldn't open it - there was a tiny lock there now that he
checked it in the mirror.

"Yes, lock. That's the way these things are made. Really, don't you
know anything, Mr Prentice?"

"About the design of cock restraints? No, actually I don't!" He began
to pace the room in absolute frustration. "Where's the key?"

"In your... I mean, in my room." Gemma stood there with her hands on
her hips and a frown on her lips. "Now, as I tried to say before you
rudely interrupted me, Mr Prentice, if you fiddle with the locks, you
might break them. And then the key won't work. Is that what you want?
Is it?" She gave him a hard stare until he moved his hands apart.
"Good."

"I don't want to wear this any more..."

"Oh, do stop complaining. It's just a corset."

"And a cock restraint! It hurts when I begin to get an erection..."
Dean shut his mouth as quickly as he said that, but too late. Gemma had
heard him.

"Erection?" She studied his face closely. "Why on earth would you have
an erection? How can you possibly have an erection?"

"I don't. I'm not..."

"Well obviously you don't have an erection - the restraint makes that
impossible." She tapped it with her fingers. "But are you saying you
would have one if it wasn't securely in place? Are you struggling with
one now?"

"No..." Dean blushed bright red and couldn't meet her eyes.

"Is something about this turning you on, Mr Prentice? Are you feeling
aroused by wearing a corset and silk stockings?"

"No!"

Gemma gazed down at the smooth space between Dean's legs and lowered
the pink panties a few inches with her right hand. The leather sheath
gleamed softly in the hotel room light. If anything there was
twitching, the sheath made it impossible to tell.

"Then why on earth are you saying it hurts?"

"It..." Dean chose his next words carefully. "Doesn't. Doesn't hurt."

"Because being dressed in a corset and stockings doesn't turn you on?"

Dean shook his head and bit his lip.

"So, just so there's no room for doubt or misunderstanding. The sheath
is quite comfortable, because you've been limp since I put you in the
corset and..." she smiled, "the stockings and panties..."

Dean's expression look strained, almost as if being reminded of what he
wore was adding to his discomfort. He nodded again and said, in a timid
voice, "Yes, Gemma. That's right."

"So we don't have a problem then?" Gemma smiled.

"No we don't."

"Good. Now then - your clothes. It's going to have to be a skirt and
blouse I'm afraid."

"What? Don't you have any trousers?" Dean looked scared.

"Only one pair and I'm going to have to wear them if I'm supposed to be
the senior executive. No one's going to take me seriously if I wear a
secretarial skirt and blouse to the meeting, will they? I mean, think
about it, I can't be in a skirt if my secretary is wearing a pants
suit." Gemma opened the wardrobe and removed one of the short pencil
skirts Dean had insisted she buy, and a white silky blouse with buttons
that ceased where the curve of a woman's breasts would be. "I think
these shoes will match." She found a pair of black three inch heels
with a small silver buckle on the side.

"I can't wear a skirt."

"Of course you can. You just step into it and pull it up your legs.
Thousands of secretaries wear them. You'll be fine." Gemma thrust the
skirt into Dean's hands. "Unless you're thinking of turning up to the
meeting in just your underwear?"

"No. Of course not."

"Then skirt it is. Blouse first though." She watched as Dean thrust his
arms through the sleeves and fumbled with the tiny buttons. The garment
was designed to enhance a girl's cleavage, and buttoned tightly around
the bust as it was, his breast shapes inside his bra were thrust out to
great effect. "Mr Prentice!" Gemma clapped her hands in delight as she
saw how busty he looked. "You'd be the envy of all the girls in the
typing pool." Now she reached for the matching skirt.

Dean stared in dismay at the brevity and tightness of the short skirt
that Gemma held out for him. "I can't wear that!"

"Why not, Sir?"

"It's so short... look at it! It'll barely cover my stocking tops!"

"Well, Sir, it's supposed to be like that. It's a short skirt you see,
suitable for secretaries. You said so yourself when you told me to buy
it. The way you conduct yourself reflects both on the company and my
presentation."

"Can't I wear one of your other skirts..." Dean gazed at the skirts in
Gemma's wardrobe that hung just above or just below the knee. "One of
the more modest ones..."

"Certainly not. I'm not having you wear my best clothes, Mr Prentice.
Whatever next! You might stretch or snag the material."

"But Gemma..."

"No, no... out of the question." Gemma crossed her arms, which of
course meant her mind was made up, and no amount of complaining would
change things. "Besides which, you yourself said that Mr Grimm expects
a secretary to dress accordingly. Well, now you're the secretary as far
as he's concerned. Now stop pouting and put the skirt on. Really, this
is a lot of fuss over nothing." Gemma slapped Dean's stocking-clad
thigh to hurry him up.

Dean blushed bright red again as he now stepped into the skirt and drew
it up his legs. It was the shortest skirt Gemma had, but she was in no
mood to tell Dean that there were longer ones to choose from. Perhaps
if he hadn't complained so much she might have taken pity on him, but
frankly his behaviour was going to be rewarded with a skirt length that
reached half way down his thighs.

"Try the shoes on, Mr Prentice."

Gemma watched as Dean sat back down on the edge of the bed and
struggled with the heels. His long blonde hair swung around his face as
he slipped first one foot and then the other into the glossy black
shoes. But Gemma had to admit she was impressed. With the hairstyle and
the foundation garment and the false nails and the secretarial outfit,
Mr Prentice made for a very convincing woman. The look would be made
perfect once she added some make up.

"So... make up, and then we need to find Mr Grimm."



(Seven)

"Mr Prentice... you can't just sit there doing nothing. People will get
suspicious," hissed Gemma into his ear as they sat in deep armchairs
outside Mr Grimm's suite of rooms.

"What do you mean?" Dean sat with his hands in his lap, feeling very
self conscious. His face was now heavily made up with foundation,
blusher, lipstick, false eyelashes and mascara to the point where he
was unrecognisable as anything other than the most slutty looking
secretary it was possible to be.

"You're pretending to be a secretary, remember? You need to act like
one. Don't just sit there like a statue. You should be checking your
make up in your compact. There's lipstick to be touched up regularly,
and I don't think you've even checked the seams of your stockings since
we left your hotel room, have you?"

"Gemma..."

"Really, Mr Prentice, anyone would think you want to be discovered as a
man dressed up as a woman. Now, look inside your handbag and you'll
find a mirror and some lipstick."

Dean fumbled around inside the bag, a task made more difficult by the
length of his new false nails. The mirror was compact and clicked open
when he slid the catch. As Gemma watched, he checked his reflection and
winced at how pretty he now looked. Worse than pretty - sexy even, with
the heavy make up and the pouring effect of the lipstick.

"You can never check and freshen your make up too often, Mr Prentice,"
said Gemma as she encouraged him to powder his nose. "Now check your
stocking seams. I'm not having you walk into the meeting looking less
than perfect."

Dean ran his fingers down the length of his seams, feeling by touch for
any imperfections. They seemed straight. He looked up at Gemma for
confirmation.

"Neat enough." She nodded and passed him a glossy woman's magazine. The
pages flopped open to a photo spread of strappy heeled shoes for
summer. "Now cross your legs at the knee and sit up straight, breasts
forward."

"Gemma!"

"And no more Gemma - it's Miss Layton from now on. Remember, you're my
secretary."

Mr Grimm checked his watch inside the suite and frowned. He was a
punctual man, was Mr Grimm, and he never tolerated lax time keeping
from staff, clients or, in this case, supplicants. The Prentice group
wanted his investment, so that meant they had to jump through his hoops
whenever and wherever he required. Since checking in he had hired a
suite of rooms for his own personal use and a conference room for the
meetings with... and now he had to check the details on the fax that
arrived this morning... Deanna Prentice and Gemma Bryden. Women. His
upper lip curled slightly in an automatic reflex, not to women as such,
because obviously Mr Grimm enjoyed the company of women a great deal,
but to the thought of women in a position of executive authority. He
was an old fashioned man, was Mr Grimm. The woman's place was in the
home, cooking meals, cleaning floors and sucking cocks. Especially
sucking cocks. Occasionally he made an exception, for example his
Russian personal assistant, Elizabeta, who demonstrated impressive
drive and commitment. He could hear her now in the outer room, greeting
the arrivals.

"My name is Elizabeta, personal assistant to Mr Grimm." It was the
Russian woman who had appeared in the shop earlier in the afternoon
with new from the Berlin office. She spoke in a sharp no-nonsense East
European voice, with the gravity of a woman used to giving orders on
behalf of her employer. "Names please."

"I'm Gemma Layton, chief executive of Prentice Industries," said Gemma
with a smile. "And this is my secretary, Deanna Prentice." She
indicated a nervous Dean Prentice who sat there literally shaking with
terror.

"She seem cold. Hotel heating not sufficient?" Elizabeta regarded Dean
carefully and sniffed with disapproval. Platinum blonde hair, pink
lipstick, short skirt, high heels and French polished nails - all signs
of soft Western women. Elizabeta on the other hand stood six feet three
inches tall in stockinged feet, and wore a plain black linen trouser
suit. Her long black hair was worn in a braid wound and coiled tight at
the back of her head. She was an attractive woman, but hard looking.
For exercise she would train in the mornings before breakfast with a
ten mile run followed by a strenuous work out with a pair of 36 kg
Russian kettle bells - one in each hand.

"Stop fidgeting, Deanna," said Gemma as she noticed her employer
trembling slightly. "I'm sorry about that, Elizabeta. You know what
secretaries can be like."

"Yes. Soft. Poor circulation too. Come. Follow. Quick now." She snapped
her fingers twice to punctuate her command and led the girls into the
conference room where the heavy bulk of Mr Grimm sat waiting for them.
He was an imposing figure - broad shouldered and with a body that
looked like it was straining to escape its pin-stripe suit. There were
a number of seats around the conference table, but also a revolving
secretarial chair on wheels close by.

"Slutty secretary girl sit there," said Elizabeta as she clicked her
fingers again. Dean found himself sitting down quickly as ordered. His
skirt rose up a little as he made himself comfortable on the slightly
sloping seat, almost revealing the edges of his stocking tops. He
squirmed and quickly pulled at the hem to fix it in place. The fabric
of the seat felt rough and to his dismay it was acting like Velcro to
the material of his skirt. Once settled as comfortably as he could be,
Dean brushed his long platinum hair back with the fingers of his right
hand. The nails felt clumsy as he gripped a pen and poised it over the
loose leaf memo pad.



(Eight)

The meeting had been intolerable. If Dean had thought he was going to
play a part in the negotiations, he was swiftly shown the error of his
ways. Perched precariously on the edge of the tilting secretarial
chair, he had spent the last hour struggling with the hemline of his
skirt and trying to transcribe notes as Gemma and Mr Grimm rattled
through corporate details at a rate of knots. The long platinum hair
kept swishing into his face every time Dean looked down at his notepad,
meaning he had to pause to brush it back, meaning he had lost precious
seconds to transcribe notes. This mad him write even faster, and caused
him to fidget on the velcro like chair, which in turn made his short
skirt ride up again. Gemma would then hiss quietly at him a few words
like, "Skirt!" and mortified, he would be back to pulling the hemline
down again. And even when he did try to make some points early on, his
remarks were met with a savage stare from Mr Grimm, as if Dean was
somehow interrupting proceedings.

"Deanna means well," explained Gemma with a sigh, "but you know how
secretaries can be," she said to the head of Amalgamated Amalgamations,
who nodded by way of reply. "Sit up straight, for goodness sake,
Deanna. Stop fidgeting, and if you have something to say, put your hand
up first."

Dean was furious, but what could he do? And then, even when he did put
his hand up, the two of them simply ignored him until, blushing, he had
to put it down again to catch up with the note taking. In the end his
constant fidgeting and struggling with his long floppy hair meant an
exasperated Gemma sent him into an adjoining room to make some coffee.

Coffee! Dean was seeing red as he fumbled with the cumbersome espresso
machine. He was a managing director. How the Hell had he ended up in a
short skirt and high heels, making coffee, while his secretary laughed
at Mr Grimm's jokes in the suite next door? It was really too much.

"I know your secret." Elizabeta had appeared silently behind Dean as he
worked the espresso machine. The sudden and unexpected voice made him
jump and spill some of the coffee.

"What... what do you mean?" Dean turned quickly around to confront the
Russian woman. An imposing figure, she stared down at him from her
advantageous height and prodded his stomach with a finger. God, but she
was tall. Dean was only five feet eight inches in comparison. The woman
towered above him. Even her shoulders were broader from a lifetime
spent swinging Russian kettle bells before breakfast.

"Your secret. I know it."

Oh God, she knows I'm a man! Dean's face blushed a bright red beneath
the layers of perfect make up. His legs trembled as he made ready for
Mr Grimm's assistant to denounce and reveal his true identity. "Please,
I can explain..." though of course how could he?

"Hah! You are so obvious." Elizabeta stepped forward and pressed Dean
against the wall. Their breasts rubbed against one another as Elizabeta
lifted her hand to brush aside some of Dean's long blonde hair. "So
pretty. Like china doll."

"I didn't ask to be like this," whimpered Dean as he lowered his eyes,
unable to meet Elizabeta's gaze now that she knew he was a man. This
was going to be extremely embarrassing. His only hope would be to slip
away before anyone else in the hotel could be informed. But where would
he go? He only had a key card for the small room Gemma had originally
occupied, and the closet there only contained a selection of feminine
skirts and blouses. Without Gemma's help he was stuck like this.

"Of course. Not your fault. We are all born way we are." Elizabeta
lifted Dean's chin with her right hand until Dean was gazing up at her.
"But you so obvious."

Dean's mind whirled. How had she noticed? He had seen his own
reflection. Gemma had made such a good job of the way he looked. Even
he found it hard to believe that the reflection in the mirror wasn't
that of a sexy secretary. What had he done to give himself away? His
mascara painted eyes suddenly widened in surprise as Elizabeta slipped
her right hand between his legs and began to stroke the inside of his
thighs where the sheer stocking tops ended.

"Slutty girl," she said as she leaned closer and kissed Dean. "Yes, I
recognise submissive slutty girl when I see her."

Submissive? Girl? Dean was momentarily taken aback as Elizabeta's hand
and lips drew little gasps of pleasure from him. She didn't know he was
a man... She simply thought he was a submissive girl!

"In Russia girls like you know place." Elizabeta now pushed Dean
roughly against the wall, and with surprising strength, gripped his
wrists and pushed him down on to his knees. "That place kneeling before
stronger, superior woman."

"Wait!" squealed Dean as he struggled in her grip.

"I am stronger, superior woman in all respects. Western girls so soft
and helpless." Elizabeta unzipped her trousers and slid the belt from
its loops. It was heavy, made of dark stained leather, with a solid
metal buckle. "You please me, yes?"

"No!" Dean struggled again but was rewarded with a sharp slap across
his face. Dean didn't like this. In the normal way of things he was the
one on top. Women did what he said, and if anything it was they who
would be on their knees saying 'yes, Sir.'

"Bad girl," said Elizabeta as she raised her hand again, this time to
wrap the heavy leather belt around it. "I see I must strip and tie you
over table and beat you harshly with belt until you cry many tears and
beg to please me."

"No, please no!"

"Then soft, slutty girl please me, yes?"

"Yes! Yes!"

"Good." Elizabeta stroked Dean's hair in the way she would stroke a
well behaved pet. "Use hands. Slide down trousers and panties. Quick,
quick."

"But... I'm not wearing trousers," Dean sniffed. Elizabeta had let go
of his wrists, but the length of leather belt dangled ominously from
her right hand.

"Stupid girl." Elizabeta suddenly brought the belt down hard on Dean's
left thigh. He screamed and would have jumped to his feet if she hadn't
quickly restrained him from doing so. "My trousers. Then use lips and
tongue. Give much pleasure or I tie you belly down over table and lash
bottom hard."

Oh God! This woman was insane! Dean slid her loose trousers down past
her thighs and did the same with her plain black panties. Although
feminine in cut they were of a simple cotton design without any lace
edging. Dean's panties by comparison were of soft silk with an over
abundance of frilly lace.

"Good. Good." Elizabeta now gripped Dean by his hair and pressed his
face to her sex. Squirming with fear, Dean pressed his mouth to her
vagina and began to lick with his tongue. As he strived to please her,
Elizabeta began to purr, like a particularly predatory cat.



"Problems?" enquired Mr Grimm as Gemma switched off her phone. Gemma
had received a call while Dean had been away making the coffee. They
both watched as he walked slowly back into the suite, his face numb
with shock; a coffee tray held in both hands.

"I'm afraid so," explained Gemma. "Family problems. My mother hasn't
been well, and she was due for an operation. There's a space open for
her tomorrow, but it means I'll need to drive her to the hospital
tonight. I'm really sorry..."

"Hmmpf. Well, family comes first I suppose."

"My secretary, Deanna, can of course cover for me tonight and
tomorrow."

Dean looked up with startled eyes. Gemma was going to leave him here,
dressed like this? No! "Uh, Miss Layton... I really don't think..."

"Hush, Deanna. I'm talking to Mr Grimm." Why oh why did Mr Prentice
insist on interrupting her like that? It really was inconsiderate of
him.

"Well, as long as she knows her way around the accounts. I need to
scrutinise the company figures in detail," said Mr Grimm as he narrowed
his eyes at the secretary.



(Nine)

"You can't leave me here, Gemma. What am I going to do? I'm dressed as
a woman, and that personal assistant of Mr Grimm's is insane." Mr Grimm
had dismissed them early so that Gemma could make a start back home
before it grew too late. Gemma had taken Dean straight back to his new
room.

"Elizabeta? She seems perfectly efficient to me. And Mr Prentice, how
many times must I remind you that while you're my secretary you really
have to refer to me as Miss Layton."

"No one's listening to us right now. It doesn't matter."

Gemma sighed. "Skirt up, bend over."

"What?"

"You heard me, Mr Prentice. And you know how much I hate having to do
this, so I'm going to add another six strokes because I'm very annoyed
now." Gemma reached into her attaché case. Inside one of the pockets
was a small hand held paddle with holes cut into it to negate any air
resistance.

"You can't be serious!"

With another sigh Gemma took hold of Dean's hair and pulled him over
until he was touching his toes with his bottom thrust out towards her.
It was the work of seconds for her to thrust Dean's skirt down around
his knees. "Now, let's go over your performance earlier, Sir. What did
you do wrong in there?"

"I didn't do anything... ow!"

Gemma had slapped his ass with her vicious paddle.

"Wrong answer. Think hard, Sir."

"This is insane! I didn't... OW!"

The second swipe was much harder. Dean;s eyes were stinging as he took
stock of his situation. "Make up..." he whimpered from where he was
bent over.

"Make up?" Gemma paused, giving him time to go on.

More sniffles. "I didn't check my make-up in my pocket mirror..."

"Very good." A light swipe of the paddle followed. "Why is checking
makeup very important for a girl like you?"

"It might be smudged or need touching up."

"Yes, and why else?"

"Secretaries always check their make up regularly! It's what they do!"

"Well, slutty looking ones like you, Sir, yes." She gave him two more
light spankings with the paddle. "Really, the way you wriggled on your
seat and pouted in that low cut blouse of yours throughout the meeting,
it was like you had a sign around your neck begging for men to notice
you."

"I can't help it! You dressed me like... OW! OW!! OW!!!" Tears burst
from Dean's eyes as three savage swipes of the paddle turned his
pantied ass red.

"Oh, do stand still. You know I don't like doing this, but the girl at
the Transformation Centre said it might be necessary. Now, what else...
you forgot to play with your hair." Gemma spanked him hard again. "You
didn't put your hand up before speaking." An even harder spank. "And
there was hardly any fluttering of your eyelashes at Mr Grimm. What's
the point of gluing such long eyelashes to your eyelids if you forget
to use them? You're such an airhead sometimes, Mr Prentice. Even simple
things like that seem difficult to you." She rounded off the beating
with three more hard swipes of the paddle for good measure. "You can
get up now, but sort out your make up before I go. You really shouldn't
cry when you're wearing thick mascara." Gemma smoothed down Dean's
skirt and tutted as she saw how short it was. 'Tramp' thought Gemma to
herself.

"At least let me out of this belt while you're gone! Please, Miss
Layton." Dean sniffed as he rubbed his ever so sore bottom. He had
caught himself in time before he accidentally called her Gemma. The
last thing he needed was another beating.

"Certainly not. Being belted is for your own good. You stay in the belt
while you're dressed like that."

"But I don't want to be dressed like this any more. This has gone too
far. I really don't like this."

"Such nonsense. Anyone would think you're climbing a mountain or
running a marathon. All you have to do is wear a skirt and heels for a
few days."

"Few days?!"

"Yes, a few days, maybe a week... certainly no more than two to three
weeks, unless of course complications arise with the deal." Gemma
rolled her eyes. "This is a very delicate set of negotiations, and
frankly your behaviour earlier on hasn't helped in the slightest."

"I can't pretend to be a girl for several days, let alone weeks! I
never agreed to that."

Gemma narrowed her eyes. "I've still got the paddle, Mr Prentice."

"I'm sorry, Miss Layton."

"Anyway, there's really no need for you to have the belt removed, is
there? It's not as if you you have your wife here and you need to
satisfy her as a husband should. The only possible use for removing
your belt would be to allow you to masturbate in private. Is that what
you want to do, Mr Prentice? Masturbate in private like a naughty
school boy?" She stared at him.

"Uh, no... of course not."

"Because I don't approve of masturbation. There's really no need for
it. It implies a lack of discipline and self control, doesn't it?"

"Uh... yes."

"What was that? Speak up, please, I can't hear you."

"Yes... masturbation implies a lack of control."

"Good. Well, that's settled then. You'd only need the belt removed if
you were going to masturbate, and you've just agreed that you find that
sort of thing disgusting, as I do." Gemma sighed again as she looked at
Mr prentice. "Oh for goodness sake, do something about your mascara!
You look like a prostitute with smudged make up like that."

"Sorry, Miss Layton."

"And so you should be. I try so hard to help you, and all I get is
complaints and ineptitude. Why is everything so difficult for you? I've
got a good mind to hire a nanny to look after you while I'm gone."



(Ten)

Dean cradled his glass of white wine as he sat beside the window. They
were working late into the night, Mr Grimm and he, poring over
spreadsheets of figures that he didn't really understand. Gemma
normally dealt with this kind of thing, but of course he was pretending
to be Gemma's secretary, and therein lay the problem. Dean had never
had to locate documents on a laptop archive before, and every time Mr
Grimm asked for some particular report or balance sheet, he struggled
with the 'find' function on 'Explore' to locate the file in question.
This meant delays, frustration, and an increasingly exasperated Mr
Grimm.

"Haven't you found the file yet?"

"No Sir." Dean looked up and flicked his long blonde hair from his
eyes. "But I'm looking!"

"Hmmph." Mr Grimm sat back in his heavily upholstered chair and cracked
the knuckles of first his left hand and then his right. Where was it?
Dean was getting progressively flustered now that the man was glaring
at him. And his stupid long blonde hair kept annoying him by falling
forward every time he dipped his head. Now Mr Grimm was tapping the
fingers of his left hand on the oak table, making it impossible to
concentrate properly. "Come on, girl. The offshore figures for the
second quarter of 2009!"

"I'm sorry... I'm not sure..."

"Not sure?!" Mr Grimm slapped the palm of his hand on the table.
"You're wasting my time, girl. Wasting my time. Miss Layton will hear
of this when she returns tomorrow. You can spend tonight in your room
searching the laptop for all the figures I've been asking for, and you
can let me have them before breakfast, otherwise I'm leaving and you
can explain to Miss Layton why."

"Please don't leave, Sir. I promise I'll find them before then!" Leave?
If he left then so did the chance of re-financing the company. That
would be a disaster for the shareholders, and even more so for Dean as
he was gambling on Mr Grimm buying a 33% stake, so much so that he had
committed to purchasing the shares himself as futures while the price
was low. As long as Mr Grimm wanted to buy them, the price would go up,
and Dean would be able to sell them for more than the future option
price, thereby making a tidy profit in the process. Insider trading, it
was called. But if Mr Grimm didn't want to buy them, then Dean had no
way of paying for the share option. He would be bankrupt, destitute.

"Hmmph. See that you do. In the meantime..." he stood up and with a
casual motion unzipped the front of his pin stripe trousers, "time for
the main course. Come over here and kneel down in front of me."

"What?" Dean jumped to his feet and backed away as Mr Grimm worked his
flaccid penis free from his underpants. It was large and hairy, and
Dean didn't want to be anywhere near it. He nearly fell over on his
heels as he backed up against the window. Undeterred, Mr Grimm advanced
upon him, his unsheathed penis flapping about his thighs.

"What's the matter with you? I only want you to suck me off."

"Please Mr Grimm! I didn't come here for that!" Mr Grimm was huge -
strong looking - in a struggle Dean knew the man could easily overpower
him.

"Didn't come here for that?" he roared in his big booming brass voice.
"Good God, girl, did you really think we were simply going to look for
financial records? Don't you know how contracts are signed? On the
dotted line and after a satisfactory blow job from the executive's
personal assistant. That's the way business negotiations work!" Mr
Grimm's powerful hands seized Dean's shoulders and easily forced him to
his knees.

"No, no, no!" The enormous cock began to swell and grow in size as Dean
watched. It was inches from his face and now it rose to stand semi-
erect like a flagpole, dripping pre cum from its single eye. It was
like a terrible sea monster rising up from the briny deep.

"Take it in your mouth and start to suck. You must have done this
before!" But as Dean still hesitated, Mr Grimm glared balefully. "Or do
I tell Miss Layton that the whole deal is off?"

Bankruptcy or a blow job - that was the choice facing Dean now. Closing
his eyes he opened his pretty pink lips and took the engorged penis in
his mouth, causing it to grow even stiffer. It was a horrible feeling,
even more so as he felt the thing move and slide inside his mouth. He
wanted to gag, choke, and pull away, but now those powerful hairy hands
were holding his head firmly in place, and now Mr Grimm's pelvis was
thrusting hard, forcing Dean's mouth to suck and lick like a slut.

"That's more like it!" roared Mr Grimm with all the gusto of a man
enjoying a bracing walk through the Lake District. "In-out, in-out." He
reached for a cane that lay within arm's reach, and in time to each
thrust with his cock he slapped Dean's skirt clad bottom hard with the
stick. "In-out, in-out, that's what secretaries are for." Thwack -
thwack went the cane, but with his mouth full Dean couldn't protest or
even scream. Dean was forced to rock back and forth on his knees,
alternating between being pushed back by the groin thrusts and
propelled forward by the smacks of the cane. And all the while the
giant of a man cried, "In-out, in-out."

When Mr Grimm was finished he gave his flaccid penis a good shake and
cleaned it on Dean's hair before stuffing it back into his trousers. He
seemed happy, which was more than could be said for the deeply
traumatised Dean Prentice who couldn't get the salty taste from his
mouth. His hair was dishevelled and his blouse had lot a button,
exposing his white bra. Even his skirt had risen up his thighs in the
struggle, revealing his stocking tops. Dean felt wet tears rolling down
his cheeks as Mr Grimm returned to his upholstered armchair.

"There, now you know what's required when you have to work late," he
boomed. "Panties now, if you would."

"What?" Dean wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The horrible
man had made him swallow. He'd had to swallow...

"Panties." Mr Grimm held out his empty hand. "I collect them as
souvenirs. If you'd prefer me to come over and take them from you..."

"No!" Dean sat with his back to the wall and pulled his panties down
his thighs and pulled them free when they became entangled around his
ankles. He felt cool air between his skirt with only the penis sheath
by way of cover.



(Eleven)

"Gemma..." Dean plucked up courage to ask the question that had been
burning at the back of his mind all day. He had worked all through the
night until five in the morning, searching desperately for the
spreadsheets and accounts that Mr Grimm required. Gemma had returned
sometime after midday, and had been annoyed to find Dean in bed
sleeping late. Bleary eyed he had been summoned downstairs to work on
some more spreadsheets and figures that Gemma had pulled from the very
same laptop in a matter of minutes - figures that it appeared
superseded the ones he had found after hours of work. But one thing in
particular had lingered in Dean's mind the whole time.

"What is it, Mr Prentice?" Gemma was engrossed in an Excel spreadsheet
of cost projections on her laptop and was more than just a bit annoyed
that Dean was fidgeting beside her.

"When you... in the past... when you've worked on contracts..."

"What is it, Mr Prentice? I'm really very busy."

"Have you ever... I mean, did you ever..."

"Did I ever what? Make coffee? Sort the post? Book meetings?" Gemma
gave her employer an exasperated look.

"Did you ever have to... with a man..."

Gemma sighed. As per usual Mr Prentice wasn't making much sense. "Did I
ever have to do what with a man? Collect his dry cleaning? Yes, on many
occasions - mostly for you."

"No, I mean... did you ever have to... do things... for the contract...
working late... with a client... did you have to... you know..."

"No I don't know. Mr Prentice I really am very busy. What do you want
to know?" She put down her pen and tapped her fingers on the desk.

Dean looked down at the table and blushed. "Did you ever have to suck a
man off when you worked with him late at night?"

Gemma could hardly believe what she was hearing. "Of course not! Only a
slut would do something like that! Really, Mr Prentice, you do have a
very disgusting imagination at times. And I'd advise you not to go
chasing clients and offering them blow jobs, if that's what you're
currently considering. It will undermine the professionalism of my
presentation and suggest that we're desperate, which in turn suggests
we're finding it hard to acquire finance, which again suggests we're a
bad risk. Do not under any circumstance give anyone a blow job, no
matter how much you may want to." A frown crossed her forehead again.
"You haven't given anyone a blow job while I was away, have you?"

"No!" Dean blushed bright red.

"I'd be very angry with you if you did."

"I wouldn't do something like that!"

"If I found out you did, there would be serious repercussions. Better
you just came out and admitted it now." Gemma crossed her arms and
stared hard at Mr Prentice.

"Gemma! Please!"

"Last chance, Mr Prentice. If I find out later that you did, you won't
like the punishment."

"I haven't given anyone a blow job! Please..." Dean cringed on his low
secretarial chair as Gemma continued to interrogate him.

"Well, we'll leave it at that for now." She turned back to her work
with a disgusted wrinkle of her nose.



(Twelve)

Gemma had spent the afternoon in talks with Mr Grim again, but this
time she had not required her secretary to join her. Dean had spent a
frustrating few hours pacing around the mall, staring in through the
windows of various feminine-orientated stores as an alternative to
sitting in his small room, staring at the riding crop that Gemma had
hung from the coat hook on the door. When the second meeting eventually
finished, Gemma was quick to locate her boss.

"Now, I have some good news and some bad news and some good news and
some very good news, Mr Prentice." Gemma sat down at the dining table
and folded the fingers of her hands together as she spoke to her
feminised employer. "The good news is that my meetings with Mr Grimm
have been very productive indeed. After your disastrous evening last
night - I can't believe you don't know how to find files on a laptop -
Mr Grimm was considering washing his hands of the proposed investment
in Prentice fashions, but following my intervention he has taken an
interest again. I believe he's very close to signing. Isn't that good
news, Sir?"

"Yes, Gemma. What's the bad news?" Dean just wanted this all to be
over. He longed to get back into his own clothes and wave goodbye to
this nightmare.

"Well, obviously with the negotiations at such a delicate point it
wouldn't do to let up the pressure on Mr Grimm. I suggested we stay on
for a couple more days to facilitate the final stags until he's ready
to sign."

"I thought we were leaving today? Our rooms are only booked up until
lunch time."

"Yes they are. The bad news is the hotel is very busy at the moment
with various business conferences. By a stroke of luck, the room I'm
staying in is still available for a few more days owing to a delegate
pulling out at the last minute. Unfortunately your room is needed for
another guest this afternoon."

"Well, I'll just have to..."

Gemma held up her hand to silence Dean. "But the further good news is
that I spoke to Debbie at reception. She was very helpful, and fully
understood the importance of our situation. What she suggested was that
we move you into one of the staff rooms."

"Staff rooms?"

"Yes, Mr Prentice. She really has made a serious effort to accommodate
you at such short notice. The staff have dormitories in the basement
level, and as luck would have it, one of the new girls who was supposed
to have started work a couple of days ago hasn't turned up yet. So
there's a vacancy in the hotel after all, albeit in a comfortable staff
room. It's not quite as plush as the guest rooms, but we'll only be
here for another couple of days."

"I'm not sure about..."

"So, I've said yes of course. Debbie has been so helpful. Now, she's
not strictly supposed to be doing this, so I wouldn't want to get her
into any trouble." Gemma gave Dean a serious look. "Please don't
mention this to anyone else. Strictly speaking the staff rooms are off
limits to the hotel guests. Can I have your swipe card, Mr Prentice?"

Dean handed it over. "What do you want with it?"

"Silly. That card won't open any of the staff doors. But this one
will." Gemma handed Dean another, almost identical card. "All you have
to do is report downstairs this afternoon and you'll have a new room!"

"I think I'd rather book into another hotel somewhere else."

"Oh, but Mr Prentice, I'll need you close by in case you need to attend
a meeting at short notice. And I haven't told you the really good news
yet."

"What really good news?"

"Well, I don't forsee you having to attend any meetings for quite some
time - though you need to stay in the hotel just in case - so you may
as well unlock your sheath and enjoy the facilities of the hotel while
I handle all the difficult meetings and work."

"Unlock my sheath?" Dean wanted that very much. He felt his pulse
quicken at the very thought of it.

"Yes. Isn't that good news?" Gemma produced the key that she dangled
from her fingers. It hovered mere inches from his eager grasp. "You can
have this and unlock yourself when you're alone. Of course I'll expect
you to tuck everything neatly away when you leave your room again. You
won't forget, will you?"

"Of course not, Gemma." Like hell, thought Dean. Once that sheath was
off it wouldn't go back on again. No way.

"So that's good news, isn't it, Mr Prentice?"

Dean nodded vigorously. Moving into a staff room was a small price to
pay to get his hands on the key to his penis sheath.

"So you'll move downstairs into the basement level this afternoon, like
a good girl?"

"I wish you wouldn't call me that..."

Gemma frowned and was about to return the precious key to her trouser
pocket.

"I'm sorry! Yes, Gemma, yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, I'll move down there like a good girl."

"See - things are working out very well for you." Gemma patted his
perfectly manicured hand. "You've been a bit childish and petulant at
times, but hopefully you've seen the error of your ways by now."

"Yes, Gemma. Thank you." Dean just wanted to get his hands on the key.
He desperately needed some release from this horrible confinement. He
wanted nothing more than to free his penis and bring himself to a
delicious orgasm.

"Good. I've been ever so patient with your tantrums. Anyone else would
have put you in nappies by now and stuck you in a playpen, the way you
were acting. Believe me, I've considered it."

Dean laughed at that, but his laugh slowly faded away as Gemma gave him
a puzzled look. "What's so funny, Mr Prentice?"

"What you just said... your joke..." Dean gestured with his hand.

"Joke?" Gemma wrinkled her pretty nose, failing to understand him.

"About the nappies and playpen... the joke..."

"I see." Gemma shook her head sadly. "Oh Mr Prentice, you do say some
silly things sometimes. Now if you've quite finished with your flights
of fantasy, I'll just put the key in your handbag, like so." She picked
up the delicate pink shoulder bag and slipped the precious key inside
one of the pockets in the lining, zipping it tightly shut. "You can use
it later on when you're in your room. No rushing off into a toilet
cubicle and using it before then. Say 'thank you, Miss Layton'."

"Thank you Miss Layton."

"You're welcome, Deanna." Gemma glanced at the time. "Oh my, I need to
be in the third meeting in half an hour - I had better get ready.
You're looking very nice by the way. Very pretty. Stand up."

Dean did as he was told, and stood there in his three-inch heels and
seamed stockings. Were the seams straight? He hadn't checked since
leaving his hotel room. Gemma was very strict on his stocking seams. If
she was disappointed she might take the key back.

"Turn round," said Gemma as she waggled her index finger. Dean did so,
turning slowly on the spot, aware that every aspect of his femininity
was being closely scrutinised by an expert. Gemma pursed her lips and
leaned forward on her elbows as she considered the slutty secretary
closely. "Stop!" said Gemma suddenly as Dean was facing the far wall
with his back to her. He froze, heart beating. "Hmm. How could I have
overlooked something so obvious?"

"What's wrong?" Dean felt sure his appearance would have met with her
approval. But then again Gemma was becoming overly critical lately.
Sometimes he wondered whether she remembered she worked for him.

"Your derrier; your bottom, Mr Prentice. It should be bigger. It
doesn't really match your breast size."

"That's because my breasts are far too big!" Dean was especially
sensitive about the subject of the breasts glued to his chest. They
shouldn't be that big. Everyone stared at them all the time. It made
him feel very self conscious.

"Nonsense. You're a secretary, Mr Prentice. What do you think men look
for when they hire secretaries?"

"Well..." Dean knew very well what he looked for in women. Gemma had
been the largest breasted candidate when he had interviewed girls for
her job.

"You see now? You wouldn't be believable as a secretary if you didn't
have large breasts."

"But they're bigger than yours! Much bigger! They're like heavy
balloons!"

"Are they?" Gemma sighed. "I really haven't noticed. Well, there's not
much we can do about enlarging your bottom here, but I'll arrange
something when we're back at the office."

"What?"

"Please don't interrupt. One other thing: I want you to buy yourself a
nice ankle chain from the accessories shop in the hotel lobby. Left
ankle." Gemma gave Dean twenty dollars. "Treat yourself to whatever you
want with the change. And I bought you some pink bubble gum. I want to
see pink gum in your mouth when you're not in meetings. It will help
you blend in and not draw attention to yourself."

"I don't want to chew pink bubblegum. It'll make me look like a bimbo.
Especially with the ankle chain."

"Well, it's either that or four-inch heels."

"What?"

Gemma nodded. "I so wanted to spare you the four-inch heels. Believe
me, they can be difficult to walk in. But I suppose if you insist..."

"Why do I have to wear four-inch heels?"

"Company policy, Mr Prentice."

"What company policy? You're not making sense."

"The new company policy Mr Grimm decided on last night for secretarial
staff uniforms: a minimum of four-inches on all heels from now on.
Well, I know he hasn't actually signed yet, but he's so close, and I
wanted to prove to him how quickly we can implement changes once he
owns a third of the shares. Of course a girl blowing bubble gum is just
assumed to be wearing four-inch heels, so you'd be able to get by
without anyone noticing. Still, I'm sure you'll get used to the four-
inch heels in time..."

Dean took the bubblegum and popped a stick of it in his mouth. It
tasted of sugar and E-numbers.

"That's better. Try blowing a bubble."

Dean blushed as he did as Gemma said and blew a pink bubble between his
pink lips.

"Very good, Mr Prentice. Here, try filing your nails at the same time."
She passed him a small nail file. Against his better judgement Dean
began to file his nails while he blew a second bubble. "As I thought -
one look at you now and, in combination with your breasts, I think your
less than satisfactory shoes will pass without comment." Gemma patted
Dean's arm reassuringly. "Of course you may have to upgrade to four-
inch heels when you're back in the office, Mr Prentice. I can't make
any promises when you're surrounded by the other secretaries. Girls
notice things like that you know, and they can be so bitchy if they
think one secretary is getting preferential treatment over the rest."

"Gemma, when we're back in the office I'll be..."

"The one you'll have to watch out for is Helen. If she takes a dislike
to you..." Gemma sucked in her breath and looked sadly at Dean. "Well,
just don't annoy her, that's all I'll say on the matter."

"Gemma will you listen to me. I'm a secretary now, but..."

"She may expect you to make the coffees at first, what with you being
new and all. Oh yes, there's quite a pecking order in the secretary
pool. You'll have to remember all the milk and sugar combinations. It
can be quite difficult, especially for a scatter brain like you."

"Gemma!"

"What now? Really, Mr Prentice, you are so close to spending the rest
of your stay at this hotel in nappies, sucking on a rubber dummy. So
very close."

"I'm the Managing Director of Prentice fashions! I won't be working in
the typing pool!"

Gemma sighed and produced a pocket mirror from Dean's handbag. She
opened it and showed Dean his reflection. A bimbo secretary in seamed
stockings with peroxide hair, pink lipstick and an enormous cleavage
gazed back at him. Dean sobbed silently as he was reminded what he
looked like now. The sight of his reflection in a pocket mirror always
managed to quiet his most childish tantrums. "I really don't think
you're going to be wearing trousers for a while yet, Mr Prentice," said
Gemma as she snapped the compact shut. "There will obviously be a
transition period while Mr Grimm arranges the due diligence on the
share purchase. You simply can't take the risk of being seen until the
dust settles. Now where am I supposed to put you in the meantime, hmm?
Do you have any skills I should know about?"

"But..."

"Any relevant skills at all?"

"Well..." Truth be told, Dean possessed no relevant qualifications in
business whatsoever.

"Quite. To be honest I'm going out on a limb to make sure you have a
nice desk in the secretarial pool. Your typing speed is probably poor
and I'm not confident you can even handle the coffee rota properly.
Would you prefer to be one of the cleaners? We mostly employ Portuguese
maids, but I could make an exception for you..."

"No, I don't want to be a Portuguese cleaner!"

"Of course you don't. And you won't be, so long as you work hard at
your desk, don't make a fuss, and don't annoy Helen. I can't be seen to
stick up for you if your work is bad. The girls will ask questions and
get suspicious, and then where would you be? No, Mr Prentice, there'll
be no trousers for you for a while yet. And being a secretary is so
much better than cleaning smelly old toilets. Ewh - what a horrible job
that would be."

"But I'm the Managing Director..." Dean began to cry again.

"Hush. You'll spoil your make up." She patted his arm again.

To be continued....