COMPANY MAN

PROLOGUE 1- HEN HOUSE

Wherein we meet Deborah Jones, our heroine!

 

 

 

I love myself, I want you to love me

When I feel down, I want you above me

 

"Wake up Chipmunk" The young female voice sounded insistent over the gradually raising volume of the music while the overhead fluorescent bulb flicked on

 

God I hate being called that. Deborah stirred in her bed and reached for her head to remove her sleeping earphones, all the while the voice in her earphones repeated "Wake up Chipmunk". She always found it unreasonable difficult to manipulate the locks to turn and unlock the earphones, which had been whispering instructions to her while she slept.

 

"Fuck!" Deborah cursed. Chicklet, had, once again, managed to pull the thin cotton blanket over to her side. Selfish bitch, Deborah thought, then yanked it back to her side. They had to get up anyway, so it barely mattered. But she needed to make the point, if only to prove to herself that she had a shred of will and authority left in herself. It was always cool in their room. Cool in the winter and too warm in the summer. For a moment, Deborah leaned back in bed and basked in Chicklet's warmth still trapped in the blanket. She finally managed to remove the now unlocked earphones, too. This did not stop either the incessant voice nor the music. The computer generated assistant continued from the sound system along with the song now playing at normal dormitory music volume

I search myself, I want you to find me

I forget myself, I want you to remind me

 

"Good morning Chipmunk. A good Artemis Girl doesn't swear. I'm sorry but I have to have to log it." The AI assistant managed to sound like a mildly disappointed governess talking to an unruly child.

 

Damn. Deborah hadn't yet gotten used to the new feature designed to 'help young ladies improve their language'. The speech recognition was improving all the time and the engineers behind it were using Artemis Girls to perfect it. After all, everything she said and did was not only being listening to by her smart watch 24/7 but also recorded for 'verification purposes'.

Dormitory Girls are great test subjects, Deborah thought bitterly. After, all someone else might have pesky privacy concerns about being recorded 24/7. Or demand getting paid for it.

Chicklet was stretching and yawning. Like her bikini panties, her crop top was plain white cotton, her small breasts bulging out the two-way arrow and text that read 'Both Ways' in purple. Deborah herself had slept in her pink nylon chemise and tap pants, but then the roommates had very different wardrobes.

"I'm sorry Ma'am," Deborah replied while she and her sister got out of bed. Making her address the AI assistant with 'proper respect' was another recently introduced new feature being tested on Artemis Girls by the development team. An all male team developing the perfect AI assistant designed especially for female needs, Deborah reminded herself sulkily. And we are the lucky girls to benefit from it first.

"A good Artemis Girl always watches her language." the disembodied voice reminded them. She had seen some of the internal papers and knew that this part of the AI's function was called PDA: Personal Discipline Assistant. Finally satisfied with their submissive apologies, the digital governess finally became more businesslike.

"Good morning Chipmunk and Chicklet. It is five minutes after five o'clock in the morning. Your biometrics indicates less than 6 hours sleep. Being sleep deprived is not healthy for young women. A recommendation has been entered to move your bedtime back to 8 PM tonight. Your Dorm mother will inspect your room in teen minutes at 0515 hours. Please make and tidy your bed."

I search myself, I want you to find me

I forget myself, and I want you to remind me

Chicklet was already humming to the melody while she straightened the bed cover. Deborah found the wake-up songs that marked the start of the working girls day throughout the dorm tiresome. They were always too loud, high energy, and suggestive-more dance club than soothing. The sound bounced off the pink cinder block walls that were mostly bare. Everything in the room was built in or bolted down-from the single bed the roommates shared to the chest and closet they shared, each containing their respective clothes, shoes, cosmetics and few personal items they were allowed to keep in their room neatly side-by-side. What cash and few valuables a girl might have when checking into the dormitory would immediately be securely stored in the safe by her housemother along with her Passport and Drivers license. All for the safety and convenience of the girls according to the 'Handbook for Artemis Staff', which all female staff was expected to memorize. For many of the girls it was the only book they ever got to read.

There were no windows. Apart from a huge flat screen there were only two visual distractions in the room. One was a poster that simply read "NO ONE KNOWS I'M A LESBIAN". The other was her own MBA, taped to the wall on her side of the bed- a reminder of a different her. There were cameras attached to the ceiling flouro lights as well. Those were often on both roommates' minds, as they had been the previous evening.

I don't want anybody else

When I think about you, I touch myself

Ooh, I don't want anybody else

Oh no, oh no, oh no

You're the one who makes me come runnin'

You're the sun who makes me shine

When you're around, I'm always laughin'

I want to make you mine

"Please assume inspection position girls," The bodiless voice told them as the ten minutes were up. Dormitory girls had to assume the inspection posture whenever their room was to be inspected. The Girls moved to the position indicated by markings on the floor at the end of their beds and assumed the correct posture. Raise arms, hands placed behind their neck with fingers laced together and their feet apart.

"Elbows further back Chipmunk," The AI corrected her. "Remember a manager might be watching. You want to make the right impression." Adopting her sister's pose, Deborah got her elbows way back. Displaying her breasts and her obedience to the cameras at the same time. She got plenty of practice; it was a posture Artemis girls assumed often. Some executive might well be inspecting girls waiting to be released from their rooms to pick out his next secretary. Maybe it had been his manual input that had prompted the digital governess to correct her posture. Usually, the AI couldn't tell such minute details. But the girls were purposefully left in the dark about the extents of its capabilities. That way, they always felt watched. And whether by men or machine, they didn't know, and couldn't even tell apart with certainty.

While they had to be in position precisely on time the Dorm mother sometimes took awhile getting to them. Today the wait was brief. Five minutes tops. There was a redundant knock on the door before she swung the door open.

"Good morning, girls!", she greeted them cheerfully. "Will you be good Artemis Girls today?"

"Yes, Ma'am! We will be good Artemis girls today!" both roommates responded in unison.

Miss Merchant nodded and entered to do a cursory inspection of their room.

 

At first glance, the tall women looked strict, even menacing. The way she entered the room seemed to exude a certain self-assured authority that was underlined by the leather razor strap she always carried on a thong on her belt. She was dressed to make an impact in a severely cut feminine business suit. The immaculate, starched white blouse with its high stiff collar and gently puffed long sleeves, knee-length grey tweed pencil skirt and light tan, seamed fully fashioned stockings and three inch black heels provided for a truly imperious image of a strict headmistress or governess.

However, the strap-wilding female authority figure was less imposing to Deborah then someone watching on the cameras might assume.

Lisa Merchant had worked for Artemis for over six years. Just turned forty, she was among the oldest of the female staff left in a supervisory position. When the changes began she understood that the only viable career path for women under the new regime was avoiding any competition with men for real power or status. Her seniority along with her demonstrated loyalty to the new ethos permitted her to choose, within limits, any of the jobs still allowed to women. Female ambition, ruthlessness and drive could be useful if properly directed and being a Dorm mother seemed an attractive occupation for women ruthless enough to subjugate their own gender. It offered board, a study salary, and a position of some authority within the company that other female staff was required to respect ...and fear. But the image of empowerment projected by the self-assured governesses as an independent female authority figure was an illusion and Deborah knew it.

Ms Merchant had to dress to please men and intimidate females without any real choice in the matter. Her heels were perhaps the most telling. The men who ruled Artemis liked to see their girls in heels so Artemis Girls wore heels. A minimum of three inches and to a skilled observer of female movement it was obvious that the three inch heels were just a bit higher then she could walk in with complete confidence. But a dorm mother was limited to exercise her authority in a way that pleased the male gaze. Men liked to see her in heels so she wore heels like a good girl no matter her supposed status. She was always ultimately answerable to a man and she could only maintain her position by obeying male's commands and enforcing ultimate male authority on other women. The dorm mother couldn't open the safe with the girls' valuables and documents without being authorize and any male executive, even a trainee could overrule her on room assignments, curfews, schedules, meal plans and even her own core competency: discipline.

In a snap inspection two days ago, she'd given both Deborah and her sister a swat for an untidy room but she had looked worried doing it and the yelp of pain had been acting for the camera. Most girls would have angry red welts for an improperly made bed sheet's hospital corner but while Deborah had the relative lowly status of a secretary, she was the de-facto PA of the boss himself and he talked to her sometimes. And Ms Merchant was smart enough to know that it was unwise for a mere female to needlessly antagonize someone who had regular pillow talks with the boss, no matter her official status. Deborah might be relegated to a secretarial dorm for now but who knew if she could sweet talk herself back into his good graces?

The episode had reminded Deborah how the only real power a women had was the power to influence men and that she was close to the boss himself despite being relegated to the dorm.

They both knew that was the real reason why the inspection was as cursory as she thought she could get away with for the cameras. Leaving the door open, she continued her wake up route in a brisk stride, her high-heeled shoes clicking on the rough concert floor, muffled over the rugs repeating herself seven more times over the next few minutes.

She and Chicklet pulled off their sleepwear and tucked towels around them. They joined the queue forming up leading to the bathroom, composed of fourteen other women waiting. "Water on!" the Dorm Mother announced and the line moved forward quickly into the communal shower, hanging their towels on assigned pegs. Steam began filling the green tiled walls of the shower as the pairs of roommates huddled together under one of the eight showerheads. The water came on automatically the same day every day at the same time. It was lukewarm at best and only lasted for five minutes. At first it had been hard to wash up and do a proper shampoo in the time allotted, but of course she now managed it-even while wearing (and washing) the chastity belt all admin staff had been placed in. Except for the water, the shower was quiet, each of the eighteen women focused on washing themselves as thoroughly as possible.

As always, Deborah reflectively compared herself with the other girls. She was attractive but had plenty of competition. All the Dorm girls were very fit young women with splendid figures, athletic but emphatically feminine and sexy. Hours of gym work and a strict diet was used to improve the physique of all Artemis girls from a good baseline. And what nature couldn't provide, plastic made perfect. There was always the worry that one of them would catch the boss's eyes and take her place. Many of them had angry red welts on their rumps from the strap or cane being applied indicating failure to find a male protector, making Deborah both proud and glad that she had. In each corner, a camera recorded their ministrations. She'd long since stopped thinking about them except occasionally daydreaming that her boss was watching her all the time secretly infatuated with her. As she rubbed the soap suds over her breasts, she began unconsciously humming along herself.

 

I close my eyes and see you before me

Think I would die if you were to ignore me

A fool could see just how much I adore you

I'd get down on my knees, I'd do anything for you

Personal hygiene also included carefully brushing teeth for the proscribed full 5 minutes after getting out of the shower with an electric toothbrush under the watchful eyes of both cameras and the house mother. The staff manual for Artemis Girls emphasised the importance of proper oral hygiene. Of course it does. Bosses want nice pretty clean females mouths to put their penises into, Deborah thought with resignation as she brushed and flossed carefully. A certain type of male managers seemed to think that was all women's mouth were good for at the office, ordering them to keep it shut at all other times. Not that her own boss was like that. Not only was she allowed to gossip with the other girls, he allowed her to talk to him. She could even express opinions fairly openly as long as she was polite and remembered the proper forms of address. In a way, Deborah knew, she was actually privileged. And, in a quiet corner of her mind, that she usually didn't acknowledge existed, she was actually grateful.

"Time for breakfast girls. Remember it is the most important meal of the day." Their Dorm mother announced. Still wearing their bath towels the girls lined up for the dispensary. Breakfast consisted of a power shake carefully mixed and measured to each girl's needs. It was automatically given out by a machine when the scanner read their biometrics. As she quickly drank her sweetener-sweet but otherwise somehow both gross and bland at the same time diet shake, Deborah longed for the kind of fresh baked butter croissant and coffee she used to spoil herself with in the morning. A real meal, in short. The shake was based on a formula produced "especially for female mental and physical wellbeing", if you believed the marketing. Among the benefits, it was supposed to improve mouth and body odour and there were rumours about other effects being tested by the development team, and it was better for a girl not to inquire about it. If you did, rumour had it, you volunteered yourself as a test subject for the next batch. It was actually produced in a variety of tastes but the Dormitory Girls weren't consulted on taste, consistency, amount or additives.

During breakfast some girls were handed pill glasses with medicine. Artemis took protecting the medical information of female staff very seriously. So seriously, in fact, that most dormitory girls had no idea what medicine they were given or why. Prescriptions were made by the company clinic in consultation with a girl's manager and often the first time she learned of it was when her dorm mother handed her a pill glass. It was obviously absurd for an ignorant office girl to think she understood her medical needs better than the experts in employed in the company clinic. If she did, the strap was there to remind her to be a good girl and take her pills for her own good. Miss Merchant wouldn't tolerate a fuss about it. If she was suspicious she would make the young woman in question assume the inspection position and open her mouth for examination to carefully ensure she had shallowed everything. Sometimes even putting on latex gloves to check. After making sure the last girl had swallowed Miss Merchant clapped her hands. "You know the routine. Time to get dressed. Remember to doll yourself up for your bosses."

A minute later, Deborah was busy considering what to wear-probably her most important decision she'd make today. It was certainly one of the few. Deborah Jones no longer made many decisions about anything at all. The phone interrupted her.

YES, DADDY?

YES, DADDY?

YES, DADDY?

She snatched the phone, accepting the call. The ring tone was her own voice, sweetly responding even before taking a call. It had been her boss's idea and, of course, the only calls she ever received on it were from him. It was locked from making any outbound calls.

Pleasing the boss had become the overriding purpose of her existence. In many ways, both on a conscious and subconscious level, the Boss was a stern farther figure that made her feel like a little girl in need of guidance, discipline and love. He was her source of conversation, punishment, praise and protection as well as her one and only way to obtain sexual relief from an unwilling arousal that consumed her constantly.

She understood that he was the one responsible for turning her from a self confident ambitious business woman into an indentured office girl effectively under lock and key but while a part of her still resented what had happened his ability to effortlessly bring women to their knees was just more proof of his power and masculinity. What was more, it was proof that he was strong enough to protect her. And perhaps, her sister.

She understood that he was redirecting the fate of hundreds of women, of course. Girls disappeared from Artemis almost every week being replaced by fresh recruits. Deborah vaguely suspected that at least some of them ended up as well trained and obedient sex workers indentured to their new postings. Vacant buildings were hurriedly being converted into suitable secretarial dormitories until expanded custom build facilities could be completed. But those girls weren't like her. They don't get his personal attention the way I do, she consoled herself.

Deborah spent most of her time away from the office under curfew at the dorm, where the only conversation on offer consisted of vapid chatter about fashion, make-up and who was prettiest. Not only were those the only topic that were safe in the digital panopticon of the secretary dorm; it were the only topic that mattered. Beauty and fashion were not a game for an Artemis Girl. It wasn't even a lifestyle. It was life.

But it wasn't ...fulfilling... for Deborah's sharp and inquisitive mind. As much as she hated it, he was always grateful when he deigned to spend time with her. He had stripped away her old dreams and put her under the discipline of the paddle and strap but sometimes he was nice to her. Being scolded for letting him down was worse than the paddle. It gave her a sense of terrible despair. Made her feel unloved, reviled, and loathsome to others and to herself. She needed Him to protect her, to guide her. He was so much wiser then her, and tough, strong, self-confident - a man sure of himself and secure within his own mind

 

 

 

 

 

"Good morning, Sir!"

He looked up at her from a bed. There was a blonde lying next to him, but it wasn't clear who his companion was.

"Good morning, Chipmunk! That was some session last night. Not that we watched all of it, but when we did, you two looked very cute together!" There was a titter in the background.

At that moment, she knew exactly who he was with. After all, the hated nickname had been her suggestion-Stephanie Tremont, her boss's mistress.

If her feelings for her boss were confused they were straightforward towards his mistress. Deborah's recurrent fantasy was that the boss would one day tire of Stephanie and demote her to the secretarial pool, taking her place in the Dormitory while Deborah was moved into the penthouse as a kept woman. There was basic sexual jealousy that this woman kept the boss away from her. She also instinctively resented the older women with her elegant sophistication and her place in society. The one-time COO might not be living her best life, but compared to Deborah, she lived in the clouds. The broken executive had taken to the mistress role offered like a grateful dog taken in from the rain, and spent her days waiting to be called or visited by her new lover. No matter that he was married. No matter that Deborah was his secretary and, as such, yet another readily available female in his life. Instead of exhibiting jealousy, Stephanie dripped with condescension. Deborah was 'cute as a chipmunk'-just an office rodent in comparison to herself.

"Thank you, Sir!"

Chicklet glared at her, as she dressed. As if she was to blame for any of this!

There was mumbling and the phone was handed over. Stephanie now looked at her, as her boss got up and vanished from the screen.

"It was my idea, Chipmunk," the imperious older blonde winked. "When did you start again?"

"Eight o'clock, Ma'am," she replied with an edge she regretted.

"We were having cocktails at the Metro-I thought, why shouldn't the girls have a little fun too! How long were you told to go to?"

"Ten o'clock, Ma'am."

Stephanie yawned. "I'm afraid we forgot about you! We were into our second course by then. I'll review the recording later, if I think of it. Did you enjoy some heavy petting with your little sister?"

Katherine-Chicklet-pointedly looked away.

"Yes, Ma'am. Thank you, Ma'am." The response was flat, curt. She wasn't a lesbian, let alone an incestuous lesbian. Nor was her younger sister.

"Of course, it must have been frustrating. With those chastity belts on, all you could get to was second base! Poor Chipmunk! Poor Chicklet!"

Deborah forced her lips into a neutral, vacant smile. The locked belt jealously 'secured' her sex for her Boss, who was her sole keyholder. The metallic nanofiber was hygienically porous, allowing her to bathe herself and so silky smooth to the touch that she sometimes forgot she was even wearing it-until she felt the twist of arousal. Then it was sheer hell. How had the Boss sold this again? The Take Back the Night Initiative. She sighed. Women could be so... stupid at times-especially corporate women. She spitefully prayed the Boss kept Stephanie under lock and key too, though she doubted it.

"Anyway, I thought I'd give you a heads up." Stephanie paused, looking over her bare shoulder. The loud gush of a five star hotel shower filled the air behind her. She returned to Deborah, a sly, conspiratorial smirk on her cruel, lovely face.

"You-know-who wanted a certain something last night but I convinced him that was more in your department, if you get what I mean. You might want to pre-lube, otherwise you'll be biting that pillow very hard, missy!"

Deborah fought to push her rising fury down.

"Yes, Ma'am!" she replied curtly.

Stephanie yawned. "Tip off Baby Dyke too. He might want to do both of you."

Deborah merely nodded. Her sister glared at her hard as she buttoned up her regulation white Oxford style blouse.

"Got to order room service. Have a great day Debbie and remember to put a smile on your boss's face!" With that, the connection ended.

Great. Her boss was probably going to fuck her up the ass sometime over the course of the work day. She almost wished Stephanie had left it a surprise. She reached in her top drawer and pulled out the tube of Anal-eze, dropping it in her purse before she forgot.

Katherine's eyes followed the tube's voyage, disgust written all over her face.

If his Trophy Wife was a fine meal, then his mistress Stephanie was comfort food. That made her the junk food option on her boss's sex diet. Quick, cheap, spontaneous and easily available. It probably meant her sister was the sexual equivalent of chewing gum.

I don't want anybody else

When I think about you, I touch myself

Deborah considered her wardrobe options. She looked down at her smartwatch and with a tap launched the app offered 'suggestions' based on previous selections and how long since she had worn an item of clothing. She had to admit that it was an absolute godsend. On her secretarial salary, it was always a challenge to find a new combination of clothes that might visually pique her superior's attention.

"YOUR DAILY SUGGESTION"

Deborah sighed, looking through her top drawer. The matching sheer turquoise bra and panty set. Check. The shiny tight black polyester blouse. Check. The turquoise polyester miniskirt. Check. And of course, the obligatory black garter belt and sheer black stockings. She couldn't remember the last time she'd worn pantyhose-the Boss was not a fan. Then again, when was the last time she'd picked out what she actually wanted to wear? A long time, she noted, slipping the panties over her garter belt. She put the black spike heels on last, wincing at the discomfort. The old Deborah wore sensible shoes but the boss considered proper female footwear important with stiletto heels mandatory for all Artemis girls now. Deborah enfeebled herself when she put the heels on. They altered her legs and buttocks in a tautly strained conformation that reminded her that she existed solely to please men. Wearing very high stiletto heels changed the way a woman looked at the world around her. Any surfaces not specifically designed for easy female access, such as steep slopes, high staircases, grass, gravel, mud, basically anywhere in the countryside, where walking involved small, careful steps, preferably holding someone's arm and walking any distance became be a challenge. To reach forward to pick something up, or to carry something heavy required a careful awareness of balance. Wearing stiletto heels always an inch higher than she was comfortable with was a perfect way to constantly remind her of her vulnerability and helplessness. Wearing high heels changed the way the world looked at her, too. In heels, she was marked as the kind of woman who would forego comfort and utility for looks, for male attention.

At least she had an ever changing selection, unlike her little sister. Katherine was an Office Girl, and a junior one to boot. Like all the other girls consigned to the Secretarial Pool, she wore the same outfit day in, day out-the white too-small Oxford blouses, the black too-short miniskirts, the black high heels and the boring white cotton bras and bikini panties. The look was completed with a cheap dollar store bright red lipstick. It was enforced dress code conformity, making the SecPool girls interchangeable and anonymous while still ensuring they looked attractive to men. It signalled to anyone seeing it that she was just a SecPool girl and could be assigned if anyone needed her. There were even rumours of having all the SecPool girls share the same hair colour and styling.

She sprayed herself with the sweet smelling fragrance the Boss had given her for Secretary's Day last year. Katy Perry's Purr seemed more appropriate for a tween than a woman in her late twenties but it was better than nothing. For Office Girls like Katherine, perfume was a no-no. They had their own, cheap, deodorant to even make them smell uniform.

"Let's go girls! Shuttle bus is here!" the Dorm Mother boomed.

 

Ooh, I don't want anybody else

Oh no, oh no, oh no

I love myself, I want you to love me

When I...

Deborah patted her hair down, slipping her purse over her shoulder. She zipped up her Hard Bodies gym bag which contained the workout wear she'd need later and completed her outfit with the SmartGlasses that were mandatory for all Artemis secretaries. While all Artemis girls wore the SmartWatch, only secretaries and above wore the glasses. The two Jones girls filed into the hallway again, this time in the opposite direction, and headed towards the waiting corporate shuttlebus that would transport them straight to the office.

As she got onboard each girl paused to politely greet the driver with a "God morning, Sir." The Artemis handbook emphasised decorum. Addressing male staff with a proper respectful tone along with smile was mandatory for Artemis Girls at all times.

Inside the bus a discreet symbol was emblazoned on the back of every headrest. There was no explanatory text for the symbol and it would be obscure to a casual viewer but an Artemis Girl would instantly understand that it depicting an open female mouth surrounded by a red circle and crossed by a bar. Every woman on the bus knew perfectly well the meaning of the ideogram for "No female speech allowed." While the bus came fully equipped with audio-visual surveillance someone was likely worried about the mobile data connection giving out when passing under bridges and though tunnels. Management didn't like the idea of their girls talking in private.

To further make the point there was also a cheery poster reminding everyone that. "Gossip at the workplace is a form of micro-aggression that creates a hostile work environment for women and girls. If you overhear or experience gossip your are required to report it." No one ever said bosses didn't have a sense of humour.

Keeping quiet on the bus was no great hardship for Deborah. Girls were allowed to talk about sex, fashion, make-up and other suitable feminine subjects but serious matters were for men and talking men-talk would get a girl in trouble. She appreciated the quiet time. It was only a ten minute trip but it was her favourite time of the day. Like her co-workers, she looked out the windows, fantasizing she was just another one of the commuters headed to work. She watched a smartly dressed woman talking on her phone as she made her way to her office. The pricey cut of her pants suit and smartly styled short red hair suggested she was an executive.

 

For a moment Deborah willed them to change places, for her to be the one headed to an interesting, important job where she's be respected and admired-not to mention, well paid. Part of her found the idea vaguely unnatural. The idea of not having to obey, not having rules to guide her - and to have orgasms when she wanted them, without the boss's permission, seemed strange and almost obscene.

 

Suddenly the women looked up at the bus. Her frown was a mixture of pity, distain and outright contempt. Deborah knew what the women saw: A busload of low skilled office bimbos, who likely had to fuck their bosses just to keep their entry level jobs. The digital display on the nondescript buss actually said "Artemis female Staff morning commute." Artemis made no secret that it was providing both housing and dedicated transport for "vulnerable female staff" and given the increasing extend of the practice, rumours had inevitable begun to circulate about the highly regulated life young women lived in such places. Rather than outright try to deny the reports Artemis had created the impression that it was rescuing "highly troubled lower class girls" and providing them the "structured environment" such girls needed to keep a job rather than end up on Hump Alley as drug-addicted street prostitutes. Comparing the dormitories to strict girls' boarding schools and more than hinting that many of the girls had dabbled in the sex trade or gotten pregnant without a father anywhere in sight, before being given a chance of a secretarial job. Out of concern of such vulnerable wayward girls falling back into prostitution Artemis had even sponsored a program of cooperation with the city police force were dormitory girls were registered as 'probable' prostitutes with the vice enforcement squad and were to be picked up and returned to their dormitories if apprehended out after curfew. Key members of the police force were often invited to company sponsored events where the vulnerable girls they helped to protect could show their appreciation.

Their eyes met as the lights turned green and the bus started up again. The look in her eyes said "poor little whore," the distain of the delicately reared professional woman towards one of her less fortunate sisters, neatly shrink wrapped in politically correct pity. In a flash of humiliation, rage and jealousy Deborah's fantasy changed. Suddenly, she desperately wanted to see the unknown professional young woman among the job applicants at Artemis who were inevitably and expertly processed into obedient office girls. She wanted to see her stripped bare for her job interview, in front of a roomful of leering men. She wanted to see her bent over a desk and taught manners and respect. Then inspiration struck. I work for the boss himself, she thought. I'm his girl. Perhaps I could actually help make it happen.

 

Her smart glasses took continuous high definition images of her field of view. She couldn't control the camera or prevent it from recording and sending data. What she did have was a phone application to review and mark out frames for attention. The application was restricted for female users in that it didn't allow her to edit anything and she would be flagged if she tried to obstruct the camera. Artemis girls were encouraged to report on each other's transgressions and the application was included on her phone for just that purpose.

 

She held her gaze steady to ensure the glasses took a series of images of the mysterious women as the bus accelerated away. After she was out of sight Deborah opened up the reporting feature of her application and found several clear, useful images. After carefully considering several pictures she highlighted one that showed off both the beauty of the young woman, as well as the haughty look of disapproval on her face, adding a comment that said: "Haughty girl looking at the bus on the way to work. Would be fun if she found herself looking out, instead of in. Perhaps there is a place for her at Artemis? " Deborah felt a warm glow of satisfaction, and sent off the report. As she squirmed in her seat, her fantasy drifted from an act of betrayal just to assure herself that she wasn't entirely powerless to ...something else. After all, the woman was very pretty, just the boss man's type, too. So HE would be pleased with her, perhaps even reward her with an evening out. And the announced anal tryst would take place in his bed, instead of over his desk. She felt a rush of wet excitement between her legs at the thought. The Artemis IT systems should have no trouble identifying the young woman from the images. If she had unrestricted internet access, Deborah could probably do so herself in a few minutes with image search software. But of course, she didn't.

 

The reverie was broken as the shuttle pulled into the underground garage and the doors opened. Deborah was first off the bus, but the garage already echoed with the measured tap of high heels as girls lined up to be processed at the security station. Several young women, all pretty, preceded her in line to the scanning and clock-in station. There were no male employees in the line. By contrast the uniformed security guards supervising, directing and policing the behaviour of the women in the basement were all men. Masterful men in all their dominating forms, and aspects of control and subjugation of women excited Deborah deeply. Unlike the Dorm mother dressing like a dominatrix to please the men who might be watching this was real power, raw masculine authority. Just like a dorm mother's strap their equipment was on display. Their wide black service belts were adorned with the usual accoutrements of security: sundry items of control and authority. Handcuffs, electronic prods, even canisters of pepper spray. She imagined being detained for a 'random spot check', and handcuffed to be 'processed' with a shudder of excitement mingled with fear. She wasn't alone trying to tamp down her sexual reaction to the uniformed masculinity. The basement garage was full of properly belted healthy young women in peak physical condition. As a result of their monthly medicals more than half of them were given additional female hormones to combat any signs of sexual dysfunction. As a result there was more than a whiff of the aromatic fragrance of frustrated female arousal in the basement.

A wall sign announced that they were at underground entrance W along with a pictogram figure of a woman. An explanatory text below announced this was "A safe space for unaccompanied female staff." The boss had proudly explained that separate entrances were made available for women to enable them to feel safer in women-only parking spaces in an interview with business week last month. Deborah had been interviewed for the feature as a poster girl for how well the company met the gender specific needs of its female staff.

The fact that female staff was only allowed entry and exit via the secure underground facility unless signed out personally by a manager was not mentioned. There were several busses unloading but no private cars. Of course not, Deborah reflected. Men used private cars at Artemis, women were bussed.

At a signal from the guard the women in front of Deborah in the line stepped up. She spoke quietly to him in a voice too low to be heard. Trying to explain something. She wasn't wearing an Artemis Girl smart watch. The uniformed guard, who was athletic with short, brown hair closely cropped in a military style, took away her purse and picket up a detection wand, "Arms out," he said. The girl complied. She wasn't in a proper corporate uniform or the usual secretarial dress. She was wearing a navy suit, with blue heels. The outfit looked expensive. Like something the smartly dressed woman she had seen from the buss would have. Must be a new hire. Someone thinking she was taking the first steep on the career ladder. Stupid bitch Deborah thought with satisfaction. The wand brushed the side of her jacket. The girl tensed. The guard stood in front of her. She was hyper aware of his presence, tall, severe, authoritarian with his black leather belt. Security always scared Deborah.

"Jacket open," ordered the guard. The young women undid the button and returned her hand to the stretched position. The guard lifted the material away from her, using the wand. The tip of the metal touched her blouse as he ran the device along her side. She shivered slightly. He ordered her to take off her jacket. "Excuse me, but I don't see the point..." she managed to croak. " "Jacket off," he repeated, a cold crisp bark, warden to prisoner. "Put it on the table," he commanded. She walked to the table, under scrutiny. He threw her purse on top of the jacket before he ran the device over her nipples, one by one, deliberately, slowly. He played the metal over her flesh, carving invisible, obscene lines on her cheeks, over her neck and collar bone. No security checks here, this was molestation. Part of a deliberate policy to cow the young woman, keeping her off balance emotionally and physically.

 

"Hold position," he casually ordered as he emptied her bag on the table, casually rummaging though and examining her most intimate possessions.

"Do you have your supervisor's permission to carry contraception?" He asked. Showing her a small packet of condoms he'd picked out of her bag.

"What? No. It isn't your business" She protested feebly

It was the wrong thing to say. No Artemis security officer had any intention of letting an indentured women lecture him on law.

"I don't feel a chastity belt either" He continued as if she hadn't spoken at all while putting a hand between the shocked woman's legs. I take it you are not belted?"

"No, I'm not wearing a chastity belt" she tried to sound self-assured and angry but it came out like an apology.

He glanced at his smart watch. "Unmarried and no listed boyfriend?"

"Yes but..."

He didn't let her finish. "So, you are an unmarried single women not in a permanent relationship coming to work with condoms in your purse" He continued calmly, ignoring her flinching at his touch. "You are not in a steady sexual relationship - clearly you are allowing strange men fuck you. Have I got it right so far?

The woman was shocked and stunned at his language. "No!!! I haven't...I mean they are from when I was in a relationship." Her face was flushed with shame.

"You are a whore," he said, "as if stating the obvious. "You meant to profit from prostitution in the workplace". He gestured to an elevator door behind him. "That will take you to be medically examined for physical evidence of illicit sexual activity and checked for signs of venereal diseases. You're dismissed,"

As she made to pick up her jacket and purse he stopped her. "Those need to be examined. We don't have time for that now. They will be returned to your manager. Now go!"

They would strip-search her, Deborah knew, claiming to be looking for drugs. Full cavity search: ears, nostrils, mouth, vagina and rectum. Deborah imagined she would be thoroughly purged before they violated her anus, probing painfully and unmercifully into her rectum, extensively, fully, investigating her viscera in depth with well lubricated, rubber clad fingers. Making her stand in for the unknown woman she'd seen from the bus in her mind, Deborah hoped they made her bend over and hold her bottom cheeks apart for the inspection. She knew it would be the beefy fingers of men adding to her pain and humiliation. The real purpose of the degrading activity would be to diminish her self-esteem, of course, reducing her to tears of humiliation and groveling subservience. The embarrassment of being stripped naked, on her back and with her legs spread open wide would help convince her not to try to deny the obvious fact that she had been caught attempting to illegally prostitute herself. She would demand a lawyer and, fortunately, the company had an expert on prostitution on hand who could help the girl memorize and record a detailed and convincing confession. A company-friendly prosecutor and judge would perform some legal magic and she would be a self-confessed and convicted whore by the end of the day.

 

"God morning Sir." Deborah forced a smiled as she stepped up to the scanning station to have her biometrics verified and electronically clock in. Her heart slammed in her chest. She should be horrified and indignant. But her nipples were hard and aching. There was moisture between her legs, lubricating her belt. While it prevented her, very successfully, mind you, and no matter what she tried, from getting off by herself, sometimes, when she got just wet enough, the belt's rubber inside found some traction on her softest flesh, pulling back the hood from her clit enough that every step gave her a little rub. Every step, or just shifting in place like she did now. Deborah felt small, vulnerable and feminine in the presence of the security guard's unashamed masculinity. And, ashamedly, she had to admit that it turned her on.

 

The indentured Artemis office girl and the male guard seized each other up with their eyes. Shame, fear and arousal, strength, confidence and dominance, naked vulnerability, and uniformed authority.

 

"God morning girl." He couldn't even be bothered to check her name tag as he glanced at his workstation displaying her bio signs. The smart watch was a surprisingly effective lie detector especially as it was calibrated for each girl for that purpose "Are you carrying contraband items such unauthorized electronic devices, official documents, credit cards or cash?"

"No Sir," she answered truthfully. Deborah could only dream of having cash or use her own credit to spend money on whatever she wished. She had a company issued charge card to be used to purchase company approved items at company approved stores paying company approved prices. The rational for introducing the system had been to "prevent vulnerable girls and young women from overspending and getting themselves into debt," and Artemis considered it a great success. Of course most girls were in perpetual debt to the company and paid interests on their card.

He checked the readout and looked up. Her heart slammed in her chest.

"Do you always get aroused by watching girls get molested?" he asked. There was an amused leer on his face but no real hostility or suspicion.

Deborah felt a flash of shame at the way her biometrics betrayed her. "You are very good at your job, Sir. I enjoy seeing girls get the discipline and control they need." The last bit was almost an exact quote from the female staff manual but then she repeated it so often she was beginning to believe it.

"It really is true isn't it? All you Artemis Girls are shameless sluts. You are appropriately belted today?"

That was easy to give the correct answer to. How couldn't she be? "I'm always belted. My boss wants me focus on my duties instead of my selfish needs."

He chuckled at that. "He certainly seems to have you well in hand. You are cleared." He typed something quickly at his workstation. "Given the commotion and your positive, cheerful attitude, I'm assigning you an additional 10 minutes to reach your work area."

That was actually quite generous. For a male staff getting around the Artemis campus was usually straightforward. Their smart watch or staff badges would enable touch panel screens to let them go where they needed to go at their leisure. Female staff were usually restricted to a fairly specific zone and given a set amount of minutes to reach it before being away from her assigned workspace too long would cause her smart watch to flag her. Since security could always track those "runaway girls", they were usually picked up within minutes.

Deborah and Katherine parted company as she headed to the Executive Suite on the top floor and Katherine to the Secretarial Pool down on three. Deborah's smart glasses helpfully lit up directions and indicated time remaining until she was to be at her work station. Her access would not unlock executive express elevators so she had to take the stairs.

Even with most girls effectively geofenced to their immediate work space, the rhythm of high heels drumming the floor was everywhere. There was a prevalence of matching corporate uniforms like the one her sister wore. Fetching coffee; copying, filing and doing all the office drudgery men could never be bothered with. All the female employees were perfectly made up, well groomed and in very feminine dress. Some were elegant and stylish, and some looked fairly tacky in slutty miniskirts but they all displayed shapely nylon clad or occasionally bare legs. No women in trousers or sensible flat shoes trying to look like a man or take his job anywhere in sight. With few exceptions, female staff kept their heads down or their eyes lowered. Anything else might ...invite... male attention.

 

On the surface it looked like an idealized version of a high end corporate campus. A curious mixture of futuristic modern design and a rediscovery of natural gender roles in the workplace.

 

Few men were at work this early but there were some early risers. A secretary was greeting her boss with a morning kiss at his door and on elevators rides, the lucky girls allowed got a friendly groping on tights or buttocks. With the right help and encouragement, women here learned to alter their psychic geography in order to exist in a world where assertive male behaviors were normalized. They learned how to dull the part of themselves that feels distress when men demand sexual submission, because it was impractical not to. Well adjusted women at Artemis accepted this state of affairs as just part and parcel of inhabiting their gender.

 

Anyone with eyes and ears at Artemis got pointers on the finer points of gender stratified management. The orderly procession of girls and young women in the hallways and offices following the rigidly applied rules and regulations expected of them at Artemis and the sight of powerful males putting their hands on powerless women at their leisure; all these manifestations of iron control over women expressed the Boss's able administration and stern dominance at the helm. When he took her some place, Deborah felt a fierce sense of pride at her place at his side. And the other girls took note, making way for her as she scaled the stairs, hurriedly but unsteadily, in her heels.

 

From casual remarks she had overheard from mysterious influential men visiting the boss, she had come to understand that powerless females subject to male mastery was an ideal long held by many politicos and plutocrats behind the scenes. One man she had recognized as one of the world's top tech billionaires had noted with approval to the Boss that the state of the art campus turned aggressively independent career women into the very embodiment of respectable feminine docility and servitude.

 

Outside the nondescript and discreetly labeled staff motivational room Deborah passed a statuesque beauty waiting at attention, hands behind her head, breast thrust forward and eyes demurely lowered. Girls were often made to wait outside a motivational room in a display posture. It helped to install a thorough respect for authority and put them in a fearful state of mind; the necessary and desired mental condition of readiness to feel the full effect of corporal punishment.

 

If one were to peek inside the electronically locked and fully soundproofed room one would see a plethora of canes, crops, and whips hanging from pegs in orderly arrangement, an embarrassment of riches for the correction and disciplining of young women. Humility and submission to the discipline of cane, crop and whip was simply part of the burden of being female at Artemis. To Deborah it had come to seem a fitting nemesis; a just and proper punishment for the arrogance and willfulness of women like the one she'd seen from the bus. Women who thought to subvert their appropriate feminine place, status and social role - she shuddered deliciously, her thighs clenching, as her straying thoughts descended, unbidden, into the servility she had subconsciously come to consider innate to her sex. The liberal and frequent application of corporal punishment helped most girls and women to come to terms with the need to accept the role the boss had decreed for them. If not, then the rooms were supplemented with, leather muzzles and bulbous rubber gags, serrated, spring-loaded clips for painful attachment to sensitive areas of female prisoners, and myriad other devices to evoke terror ...and cooperation in females.

 

Deborah doubted anything more than a light correction would be required on the young woman showing the proper and correct attitude waiting at attention. When she got close, Deborah noticed the faint scent of helplessly frustrated female arousal. The woman's stiff nipples pressed up against her thin blouse could easily be made out. The areola, dotted with goose bumps, stood out ostentatiously and her nipple rings were obvious. Getting their favorite girls pierced and intimately ringed had become something of a trend among high flyers at the company. If the girl was lucky they would be silver or even gold. She was more than beautiful enough to be a model. In fact she might have been before an Artemis executive, perhaps the boss himself, had caught a glimpse of her modeling haut couture - or lingerie, when shopping for something for a wife or favored mistress online and had ...redirected... her career.

 

Discipline would ultimately be good for her. She would emerge well marked and quite familiar with the immediate painful effects of corporal punishment on yielding femininity and the lasting afterglow of agony and humiliation that continued to inform and elucidate the women as to their appropriate role and function at Artemis. It seemed a proper reward as well as a punishment for the mere fact of being female. Deborah always felt the dual nature of her indenture sexually and psychologically. The suffering offset by sexual excitement and the humiliation ameliorated by her innate femininity, the urge to submit to her all-powerful boss.

 

 

Deborah was by no means the only secretary at Artemis in a sexual relationship with her superior. Often, frequent intercourse did what nature intended, and developed the emotional ties of young women beholden to their male superiors, in the same basic way that all mammals build their relationships. The key difference between the normal working out of the mating game and how things played out at Artemis was that a policy was in place to prevent undue mutuality in the bonds. The belting of female staff helped to make them constantly needy and dependent - addicted to sex that only a single male could provide. For the male partner, the company strongly advised any superior in a relationship with a subordinate that he should work to retain his own psychological independence by ensuring that he maintained simultaneous sexual relationships with other women. Doing so allowed a man the necessary distance to consider the duties and discipline of female subordinates dispassionately, no matter how much he might enjoy them sexually. No attempt was made to disguise the one-way nature of such relationships. Women at Artemis had needs, of course, but only men had sexual agency, and the satisfying of female needs was entirely at their discretion. This helped undermine undue confidence on the part of women and ensured that the way couplings worked was that they happened only when men arranged and allowed them. Women learned to tease, then to beg, and when all that didn't do the trick like they expected to, they learned to please. On the other hand, when a male partner wanted sex he was not to be gainsaid and his girl would learn to oblige him and enjoy it - whenever and wherever she was.

 

With her thoughts turned deeply submissive just from passing by the staff motivational room, Deborah allowed herself to realize that she loved the Boss. He gave her guidance and a sense of security when she was with him. He was strict and stern sometimes but she would never respect a man who didn't know how to put a woman in her place. With his clever and effective ways, he ensured that she received the full measure of his guidance and love. If he had caged her in the dormitory it was her own fault for not working hard enough to please him

 

As she passed the heavily monitored recruitment centre floor, two young women were waiting to be interviewed. As Deborah approached a message notification popped up on her smart glasses triggered by her proximity to the guest passes both girls wore. It just informed her they were "Female Visitors" with an icon that further data was restricted. A manager would no doubt have been given access details about them. Deborah just needed to know their status. Artemis Girl always had to be on their best behaviour when interacting with female visitors. It was possible that some bored security section employee would review the footage from building cameras and her glasses in conjunction with audio recordings from her smart watch. Not likely, but possible. The best policy on how to act in front of strangers who were not part of the Artemis corporate family was simply to keep her mouth shut.

Not for the first time, Deborah reflected that the whole Artemis Campus was like a panopticon, a type of prison that allows a single security guard to see every inmate while the inmates could never tell whether the guard was looking at them. Feeling as if they were constantly being watched, Artemis Girls were motivated to behave themselves at all times, just in case. The realization always made her marvel at how clever the boss was.

One of the girls was a pale freckled redhead about her age; the other a tall brunette with legs as long as the Nile. The redhead appeared to be in her early twenties, pretty, wearing a white skirt and blue jacket with matching high-heeled spectators. She looked nervous; swinging her crossed leg up and down while casting anxious glances at the closed door by the secretary's desk. The other girl seemed even more anxious. She wore a very short paisley print dress. Its tight bodice revealed her modest, well-shaped breasts to good advantage, but the short hemline of her dress showed off her very attractive, very long legs magnificently. She must be six feet tall, thought Deborah. The woman also looked shaken and shamefaced, blushing up to her eyes. Deborah noticed the back of her dress was only partially zipped up. With a cursory nod Deborah made to pass them when the brunette timidly reached out for her.

"Excuse me, Miss. You work here?" she asked. As her smart watch pick up the voice and matched it to the database another message flashed in Deborah's field of vision. "You are now interacting with a female visitor. Your behaviour will be evaluated." Someone was likely to review her interaction later unless they were actually doing so live right now.

"I do," she answered. Noncommittal.

"Is this a good place to work for women?" she asked. "I was told it was, but when I applied they were very specific about dressing appropriately for my interview and when I checked in at reception..." She hesitated. "They needed my biometrics for the badge and wanted pictures for my application file. I had to ...pose"

Yes recruitment officers really like to put girls into the standard inspection pose. The same one Deborah and her sister had assumed at the foot of their bed this morning except it would have been stressful to be coerced into it for the first time by a stranger just "taking a few pictures". The boss liked to watch the video sometimes, to evaluate both the girl, her attitude and the ability of the interviewer to coax her into complying. Told to raise her arms and place her hands behind her neck with her fingers laced together, a girl tended to be confused, careful and slow. She would be told to hurry and not be a "difficult girl". To get her elbows way back, breasts thrusting out for the inspection and approval of the recruitment officer and others that might be watching on campus surveillance.

If the recruitment officer was skilled and judged the girl to be sufficiently submissive, she would then be told to spread her feet wide apart while keeping her arms back and her breasts forward. Ideally, she was made to spread her legs wider until her inner thighs were strained and tensed. The Boss had promoted one recruitment officer on the spot for his "exceptional women-management skills" after watching footage of him making a confused and scared girl strip down to her bra and panties for the camera.

Looking down at her, Deborah was not close enough to read the name sign. Amanda, it said. Female applicants didn't get last names on their tags. Amanda was on the cusp of some important changes. She still thought of herself as an independent agent with a choice about her career decisions and a free life ahead of her. Probably, she imagined that she'd meet some new man soon - that she'd get engaged and married - that this job and her relationship with Artemis was only a temporary affair.

'Run girl. Run for all you're worth, before it's too late.' Some small rebellious part of Deborah wanted to yell. It was not what the boss would want and not doing what the boss wanted was wrong so instead she smiled as reassuringly at the brunette as she could muster. "This is a very women-centric company. More than 80% of the staff is female and there are all sorts of procedures in place to ensure that special female needs are fully meet. Management gets special training in making this a safe and protected workplace for female personal."

The girl bit her lib nervously. "I was told the badge was my access pass but the door won't open. Could you let me out?"

Her pictures would already have been circulated among management. If Deborah had the clearance she would have been able to see them with her smart glasses right now. Deborah had talked to plenty of fresh young women hired under the new management to guess their situation. Odds were that somehow both girls were saddled with debt and had no income. They were just young women. A status that would immutably see their future to forfeiture to Artemis System, to serve, to be owned, to be moulded into new beings whose sole purpose would be to submit to the will of others.

Deborah flashed both girls another reassuring smile "You should be proud they want to offer you a job. They are not taking in just anyone. Why don't you sit down and I'll find someone to help you?" Deborah urged the young woman back into her seat before hurrying on.

I must notify the Boss, she thought. He may want to watch them. He sometimes took an interest in freshly recruited girls during their first days with Artemis. If he liked what he saw, the two young women were likely to be sharing a dorm room safely under curfew and receiving the supervision and discipline Artemis management considered a particular female need before the end of the week.

Deborah was at her desk at 8:00 AM, as she was every workday. The Boss was rarely seen before ten, but no matter-there was always a To Do List of tasks she must attend to. Settling into her swivel typist's stool, she logged in and reviewed her alerts. Alerts ruled female life at Artemis. Most girls didn't have access to email anymore-just alerts they could reply to, if required, regarding assignments, reminders, meeting appointments and all the other corporate detritus her life was composed of these days

It was a modified version of email, real-time messaging and social media combined into one. An 'easy to use, single point, female friendly messenger'. In short, a supervised, infantilized feature for female staff. Another product tested and designed by Artemis to provide "a productive and stress free experience for female users." According to the official description, one way of reducing female stress was to make sure they were 'protected', meaning locked out, of any content that might "micro aggress them," and to restrict communication to "safe and trusted contacts"

"CURRENT P SCORE: 72%" was followed by "REMINDER: DAILY PANTY CHECK @ 10AM".

The Boss enjoyed conducting Panty Checks and scoring her underwear appeal. All managers seemed to. Some girls secretly hated them of course, but that was irrelevant.

She needed to up her score-anything under 80 resulted in a payroll deduction. Deborah made a note to get herself to Vixxxen's this weekend. She needed to up her lingerie game or she'd not only be pay check punished-she damn well might be demoted to the Secretarial Pool for good. As much as the Boss said he had a soft spot because of their shared history at Artemis, Deborah wasn't naive. There were too many pretty girls to choose from if he ever grew bored with her and sought a replacement.

There was a message from her boss. Those were always at the head of the alert queue and were expected to be replied to at once. It was a reply to her flagging the mystery woman's picture. She was almost afraid to open it but the system would log any tardiness in response time on her part.

"Debbie,

You are an observant and quick-thinking girl. Daddy is very proud of you. You are right that she would be perfect for Artemis. I've notified recruitment to see what they can do. No promises but if we manage to land her would you like to mentor her? See if you got what it takes to get into female management responsibility?

Also let's forget the Chipmunk thing. I've authorized you to pick your own username for the system. I'll make sure all the girls use it as well as you like."

It was an explosion of pure joy. Daddy was pleased with his little girl.

 

 

 

 

 

That was when her smart glasses displayed the second alert of the day

"CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR THREE YEAR ANNIVERSARY AT ARTEMIS SOLUTION SYSTEMS!"

Three years? It seemed so much longer. It seemed like she'd always been there. What was worse was she was pretty sure she always would be there.