Cassandra Ch. 02

The days and weeks seemed to fly by. My new position at Barnes and Bidwell was a dream come true. It provided me with a cute income to cover my personal expenses (Melissa took care of most everything), exactly fit my bubbly, flirtatious personality, and offered me unlimited opportunity to meet - and have - men!

Melissa did everything in her power to reinforce my bizarre new lifestyle as a nymph. We went to the salon every week and Melissa made certain every thing about me, from the crown of my hair to the tips of my long, curving talons, was perfect. About a month after my "coming out", Melissa took me back to Michelle for another treatment. I was overjoyed with my bigger titties, swelling hips and tush, prominent cheekbones and bee-stung lips. "Don't get too fond of this size, My Love," Melissa cooed. "You are going to be a LOT bigger!"

She dressed me each morning, taking great delight in fastening my corset around my torso and lacing my already-slender waist down to a handspan. My lover personally selected the outfit I would wear, making sure I wore only the sexiest, most shamelessly revealing dresses, skirts, blouses and suits with stockings and five- and six-inch stiletto heels. She would stand over me at the vanity and lovingly direct me to paint and primp in a style befitting a Trailer Trash Tart, reminding me of all the effort she had gone to transforming me into her "little slut" and that I had to look and act the part.

And act the part I did. I played the "office bimbo" to the hilt. I flirted with all the men, flashed plenty of boobflesh, wiggled my hips suggestively as I walked by, and traded less-than-subtle sexual innuendoes. When the bolder ones fondled my nearly-bare boobies or firm, rounded ass, I cupped my hands over theirs, partially closed my heavily-made-up eyes and let out a sigh of contentment.

It didn't take long for word to spread around the office that the new receptionist was very "receptive". The storeroom really DID get a workout - as well as a few private offices. I was always "saving my pussy for my lover", but only too willing to give them a blowjob or bend over and take it up the ass. In no time I had all the men wrapped around my little finger. They were SO nice and considerate to me and all the other girls; I "suggested" they had better be if they wanted to go "In Conference" with me.

I didn't hesitate to "kiss and tell", relating my amorous adventures to my girlfriends. They gave me no end of good-natured "grief" over the wanton slut I had become. Even so, they demanded every last, juicy detail of my trysts. I suspected they were living vicariously through me, reveling in forbidden passions and pleasures they wouldn't dare pursue themselves.

"I can't believe Melissa lets you get away with this," Suzie clucked, looking me up and down with mock disapproval.

"LETS me," I replied with a wink. "She MAKES me!"

"It's as though she is TRYING to turn you into a whore," Gayle observed. "Is that what you want?"

I smiled, lowered my heavily made up eyelids, re-crossed my stockinged legs with a slight rasp, and slowly, expressively thrust out my swelling breasts. My hard nipples showed plainly through the thin, shiny fabric of my blouse. The eyes of every male in the cafeteria were on me.

"Never mind," Gayle sighed. "I think I got the idea."

"But have you noticed how well-behaved all the guys have been towards us lately," queried Gwen. "I haven't had even a HINT of a lewd advance in weeks."

"Of course not! They're getting all the pussy they want, thanks to our little strumpet here," chirped Beth with a wink. "And we get to hear all about it afterwards. It's almost like being there!"

I suppose it was inevitable that Grace would call me into her office one day for "a little chat". She was very cordial as she ushered me into her office, shut the door, and offered me a chair next to hers. She appraised me carefully, taking in my dazzling hair, full, firm boobies, tiny waist, blood-red talons, full, flaring hips, and outrageous makeup and attire with a long, leisurely sweep of her gorgeous green eyes. She smiled demurely.

"My, my, Cassandra, you certainly are...DEVELOPING nicely. I couldn't help but notice how provocatively you have been dressed and made up lately. You have become such an exquisite, exotic creature in such a short time. I can just IMAGINE what all the men think, with you looking the way you do. You haven't been receiving any UNWANTED advances, have you?"

"No Ma'am, not a one."

"Good! I would be furious if one of them tried to take advantage of you against your will - and in the office to boot! The company simply cannot condone that kind of behavior. I have been fully expecting to have to discipline some miscreant who stepped out of line with you. Even with our strict guidelines, someone is always getting out-of-hand. Actually, quite the opposite has occurred.

You seem to have an incredibly calming influence on the men in the office. They have been exceptionally well-behaved with ALL the women since your arrival. They are polite, courteous, even gentlemanly. I simply cannot fathom what has gotten into them. It's almost as though they were all 'getting laid' on a regular basis. You wouldn't have any idea what has gotten into them, would you?"

"No Ma'am, I haven't a clue."

"No, I didn't think so. Still, our productivity and office morale are WAY up, compared to before you began working here. Perhaps it is just the way you 'dress up' the office that inspires them. Whatever it is, keep up the good work.

In fact, you might be in a position to help this company immeasurably. I have received so many glowing compliments about you from our visitors. Many of them are important, influential executives from companies we do business with. These are men of considerable power and stature in the business community, men who are accustomed to being treated with respect and consideration. So much depends on keeping them satisfied with the attention to detail our company provides. In today's business climate, that not only means millions of dollars in revenue, but sometimes the difference between survival and failure. You understand what that means, don't you Cassandra?"

"Yes Ma'am. It means everyone's jobs would be on the line."

"You are so BRIGHT! I knew you were a perfect fit for this company the minute I laid eyes on you. As I was saying, we need to keep these men happy. As is the case with other corporations, we provide certain... amenities and creature comforts for our special guests to let them know we do not take their patronage for granted. A little pampering here and there is not too much to provide, in view of the potential returns. We maintain a hospitality suite at the Ritz Carlton to relieve them of the necessity of securing their own accommodations - which would almost certainly be less convenient or less comfortable. We also maintain a chauffeured limousine at their beck and call.

Cassandra, I want to assign someone from the office to act as a kind of 'special liaison' to these VIP's when they visit us. I want someone who is attractive, intuitive, personable, a real 'people person' who has an instinctive feel for the wants and needs of our special guests and the ability to satisfy them. I thought of you immediately. Your duties as a receptionist make you a perfect choice. We will just...expand your duties a bit.

You will accompany our guests around the company, making sure they are comfortable and their needs are attended to, escort them to lunch or perhaps dinner - at company expense, of course. Naturally, we will arrange coverage at the reception desk in your absence and provide you with suitable compensation, should your services be required after regular business hours. The most important matter is to give your undivided attention to our clients' needs. Of course, I would NEVER ask you to do anything that was against your principles, but if you could, uh, satisfy any of their requests which you deem... REASONABLE, this company would be GREATLY appreciative."

"You can count on me, Ma'am."

Grace beamed a brilliant smile. She stood and offered me a hand up.

"Splendid! I knew I could. Oh, and one more thing. PLEASE don't call me Ma'am; it makes me feel like an old woman. My name is Grace."

Her hand lingered on my arm, then slid down. She gently caressed the back of my hand with her polished fingernails. I shivered ever-so-slightly at her touch, stepped forward, pressed my body against hers, guided her arms around me, then placed my hands delicately on her lapels. "Whatever you say...Grace," I murmured softly.

I segued comfortably into my new duties. Grace would let me know a day or two in advance when a particularly important visitor would be in the office and require my "special attention". I made certain my hair, makeup, and nails were extra-special attractive that morning, then slipped into an especially-alluring outfit that showed off my charms fetchingly. I would greet our guest in the foyer and give him the "star treatment", beaming my most radiant smile, hanging on his every word, fetching him coffee and Danish, escorting him to his meeting.

A "business lunch" became almost de rigueur on these occasions. It might be expected that Grace or one of the managers would attend such a luncheon, but usually it was only the VIP and me; a chance for him to reflect on the proposals that had been presented, and for me to 'clarify' the company's position. I would make reservations at some very swank restaurant and ordered an excellent wine or champagne to accompany our meal.

More often than not, I got pretty tipsy and snuggled up close to my "host". Without fail, his hands would begin to roam my body, causing my breath to quicken and my nipples to stand straight out. I would rub his swollen member through his pants, tell him how proud I was of my company, how important his continued business was to us, and was there ANYTHING I could do to make his stay more pleasurable? It was amazing how often - and how fast - we wound up back at the Ritz "in conference". These "conferences" could take all afternoon, and sometimes into the evening.

My life became one long, erotic voyage into the depths of submission and ultra-femininity. Each month, Melissa took me to Michelle for another treatment. I was constantly having to buy new, bigger bras. I couldn't believe how voluptuous I was becoming and Melissa showed no sign of stopping my development.

Melissa determined more radical procedures were now in order for her "little slut-slave". Body piercing had become all the rage in the scene and Melissa was eager to get me done. I received multiple piercings in my ears, nipple and navel rings, and a "Prince Albert" through the frenum of my she-male clitty. My most erotic piercing was the shiny barbell through my tongue, which drove Melissa mad with passion when I pleasured her orally.

In addition to my night corset, my mistress began strapping my feet into a special brace apparatus she had read about in one of her bondage magazines. The braces forced my feet into high, curved arches. At first, it was very painful as my feet were arched into that unnatural position. Each night, she adjusted the straps a little tighter, making the arch a little more acute. As time progressed, my feet adapted permanently to this new geometry. Where before my feet ached ferociously after a few hours in high heels, now I wore spike heels all day without discomfort. In fact, I could no longer walk or even stand unless I was wearing the highest of heels.

Transformed as I was, it seemed only natural when Melissa took me to a urologist colleague of hers and had my shrunken, useless little testicles removed. I didn't miss them at all, and my smaller, smoother clitty became so easy to tuck away inconspicuously. From that point on, my hormone regimen operated uncontested throughout my body. There seemed to be no end to my feminine development.

Mistress took a fancy to showing off her "pet" to her friends in The Scene. We would each be bizarrely made up and dressed, Mistress as Supreme Leather Bitch and myself as a latex or PVC slut. My scenewear was specially-constructed to proudly reveal my magnificent mammaries and plump, rounded tush to our many admirers. My wrists would be bound in padded cuffs and clipped securely to D-rings at my corseted hips. I glided effortlessly on six-inch stiletto-heeled shoes or boots. Mistress would lead me by a leash clipped to a wide collar fastened around my throat. Mistress loved to 'play', spanking or whipping me in front of an always-aroused audience. I often orgasmed spontaneously, lost in a dream world of pleasure-pain. Afterward, Mistress encouraged her friends to fondle my ripe body and frequently loaned me out to another Mistress or Master, that I may pleasure them in the ways I had learned so well.

Everyone in the office was excited about the coming of another Halloween. The company party this year was to be more elaborate; an evening affair with buffet dinner, open bar, music, and games. This was, in part, the company's way of saying "thanks" for a just-ended fiscal year, which saw sales and profits at an all-time high. There would be the obligatory costume contest, of course, but this year there was a new twist. We weren't to wear our costumes to work that day. Instead, we would go home after work, change, then come back for the party.

We each published anonymous clues in the company newsletter, distributed the afternoon of the party, hinting at who we were and what we would be dressed as. The contest involved matching the clues to the employee and correctly identifying the costume before the event. There would be prizes for best costume (of course), accurately guessing the most employee/costume combinations, and for any employee who could stump everyone.

I had bittersweet emotions about the whole affair. We received word that Debbie would return from her maternity leave on the First of November. I suddenly saw my "perfect life" coming to a rapid end. I knew that my position was only intended to be temporary, but I loved it so. I wanted it to go on forever! I didn't know WHAT I would do now. I couldn't go back to being "Matt"; physically, temperamentally, and emotionally, he just wasn't part of me anymore. I didn't really need a job - Melissa could provide for us comfortably - but I couldn't see leaving Barnes and Bidwell and all my friends. I wanted to go all out for what I perceived to be my 'last hurrah'. Melissa offered a suggestion; simple, elegant - and completely "over the top". I loved it! After hours of careful deliberation, I submitted the following poem for publication in the newsletter's contest:

"I'm not what you think, nor would ever conceive to appear before you on this All Hollow's Eve.

A name from the past will return once again Tho you'd never connect thoughts of me now and then.

A choice has been made and the die has been cast, now I'll never return to that life in the past.

A face you know well, with a form you know better, appears to you now bound within Passion's fetter.

Yet all things must pass and our lives must move on, remember me kindly when all's said and done.

The speculation over this poem began the moment the newsletter was distributed. Some thought it was me by process of elimination; they had already matched clue to name for just about everyone else. The rumors ran rampant all week what costume/character I was alluding to. The guesses ran from Jesus Christ ("She made references to the Second Coming and The Passion"), to the ghost of Jacob Marley ("He was pretty passionate about the chains that bound him; remember that wail?"), to the reincarnation of Marilyn Monroe ("That's a no-brainer." "Nah, it's too obvious." "So? What's subtle about HER?") Some hopeless romantics read way too much between the lines and announced with Absolute Certainty that I would be dressed as Jesus, but had gotten engaged and would be showing off my "rock". So much for Conventional Wisdom.

Melissa and I arrived fashionably late for the party. The drinks had already been flowing and everyone appeared to be in a festive mood. We love to "make an entrance", and really out-did ourselves this time. We wore matching floor-length black velvet capes and each wore a half-mask that covered only the features on the upper half of the face. Melissa's mask was black kidskin and resembled a cat's face, with pointy ears and wide openings that revealed her heavily made up green eyes. My black patent mask was that of a doe; delicate, graceful, and completely at the mercy of the "cat". The buzz in the room stilled as two men took our wraps. Hushed anticipation was followed by stunned silence.

"Oh, my GOD!"

Mistress's dominatrix outfit was brief and elegant. A black kidskin bustier corset dress molded and shaped her toned body, pushing up her plump breasts and whittling her trim waist to a hand span. Matching kidskin gloves enveloped her arms from fingertip to shoulder. The dress's hem barely covered the swell of her asscheeks and an observant admirer would have no trouble discerning her bare, neatly-trimmed bush. The tops of her black, stay-up stockings were visible over the rim of her thigh-high, black calfskin boots. These magnificent boots laced up the front and perched my lover high on five-inch spike heels. Her favorite Heartwood flogger hung in its position from her chain belt, within easy reach of her gloved right hand.

Her left hand held the leash attached to the black patent collar around my neck. My costume was even more minimalist - and striking. A shiny black-patent-leather Paul C corset hugged my torso from breastbone to hip, compressing my waist to twenty-two inches. Sheer black seamed stockings caressed my slim, shapely legs from toe to thigh and were held in place by garters attached to my corset. I was perched high on open-toed, black patent ankle-strap sandals with six-inch stiletto heels.

My arms were enclosed in black patent fingerless gloves which extended from the backs of my hands to my shoulders, leaving my blood-red, two-inch curved talons exposed. My wrists were encircled by black patent cuffs which were clipped securely to D-rings at my diminutive waist. Matching cuffs encircled my ankles and were connected by a twelve-inch chain, hobbling my gait to delicate, diminutive steps. A slim silver chain dangled between my nipple rings. My firm, bouncy DD breasts jiggled sweetly as I stepped, matched by my delicate, pierced little clitty. Even through my mask, my whorishly-done makeup stood out. No other garments or adornments spoiled the view of my magnificent body - save one. A small, plastic rectangle was pinned to my corset. It was a company I.D. card, bearing the photo and name of Matthew Monroe, Information Services Department.

They handled it very well for non-scene people. Grace broke the initial stunned silence, introducing herself to Mistress and greeting her warmly. They then turned their attention to me.

"I must say, Melissa, you have done a marvelous job transforming Cassandra. She is such a voluptuous, sensual, and very-willing creature now."

"Thank you, Grace. I have created many slut-slaves in the past, but Cassandra is the apple of my eye. She is so beautiful, so submissive, so devoted, so utterly depraved, I cannot imagine ever giving her up. Is everything prepared?"

"Yes, we set up the equipment just as you requested. I can't wait to see the show!"

Without further ado, Mistress led me to one corner of the room. An X-frame rack had been set up, and Mistress wasted no time unclipping my arms and legs an re-clipping them to the large rings at the four corners of the rack. She fanned her whip in a circular motion, repeatedly grazing my plump asscheeks with the multiple thongs. After she had "warmed" the flesh in this manner, she began to use the whip in earnest.