Bad Bosses and Bodacious Babes

**Cindy is Lydia's receptionist, and was sent reeling home after a fateful first couple of days at work. New feelings and base desires surfaced, and she must do her best to navigate them while still working for a boss that she wasn't sure if she despises or not.**

Cindy rushed straight home after her tumultuous second day on the job, mind exploding with questions, comments, concerns, and alarm. She undressed in a flurry, shucking her button-down and skirt in favor of her comfiest pair of pajama pants and a shirt three sizes too big. She needed to do something to get her mind settled, and that something tonight was to veg out in front of the TV and let the Roku take the wheel. Several movies played back to back as she lost herself in the characters. Every so often a pang of guilt shot through her and she thought about how much she enjoyed Lydia and her vibrator. She'd change channels and settle back in with a large bowl of her favorite snack, peanut butter pretzel nuggets, and a big mug of tea.

There's no way that happened.

There's no way she did that to me.

There's no way I'm gay.

There's no way I liked it.

There's no way...

The only problem was that she was lying to herself and she knew it. Cindy had came, hard. She'd had an orgasm that wracked her body. She had cut her hair. She had obeyed Lydia.

And the flawed foundation of her internal arguments caused everything else to tumble down. She kept flashing back to the moment in the morning that she inserted Lydia's toy. Back to when it suddenly sprang to life. Back to how she ground it deeper into herself. Back to how she obeyed. Cindy finished her cup of Earl Grey with a final gulp and stared down at the dregs. Maybe they would offer insight. They didn't.

After an unsatisfying evening with movies she didn't remember, she turned the TV off, took her bowl and mug back to the kitchen to wash them off for next time, and headed towards her bedroom. The receptionist stepped over various articles of clothing strewn about the place before she remembered that Lydia had commanded she bring the pouch back tomorrow. "Yeah, sure, I'll never need it again." She murmured before setting it aside on her dresser top. Already, she wasn't so sure that was the case.

Cindy drifted off to an uneasy sleep, dreams full of Lydia's terrible grin, her voice, and her laughter. More than that, her scent. The sort of bra she wore. Her body. Worst of all, she remembered how good it felt when Lydia said that short hair looked good on her.

She woke up with a start a few minutes before her alarm was due to ring and groaned at the injustice of the world. Six minutes wasn't long enough to actually go back to sleep, but it was long enough that she hated the world and everything in it for robbing her of that massively small amount of slumber. After a few minutes worth of pouting, she rolled herself up and planted her feet on the floor, surveying the bedlam of clothes that made up the majority of her floor. "Ugh, I gotta clean this up." Luckily for Cindy, she hadn't had a boyfriend in more than a year, and hadn't found anyone she cared enough about to take home since she started working at the café. It didn't help that the guys she most enjoyed being around were either taken, or into men themselves. Typical.

The newly minted receptionist looked at her work outfit with moderate disdain. She'd only bought the one set because she wasn't sure what the dress code was like, or if she'd even like the work. She picked up her skirt and checked to see if it passed the sniff test. She was surprised at how well the ghost of her arousal mixed with the sweet-fresh scent of laundry detergent. It wasn't enough to be overpowering or weird, but since she knew it was there she would be able to smell it all day long. That was too much, and she instead went rummaging through her closet for something else that would be acceptable in the highfalutin office. "No, no, no, God no, no." One by one she pulled the hangers aside, dismissing each garment as she went. Nothing seemed to fit. Until she found at the end of her rack a straight denim skirt with a line of brass buttons going from the hip to the opposite thigh. She wasn't sure if it would pass muster, but she had nothing else, and she didn't want anyone to think she was dirty, so it would have to do. Besides, she was running out of time and didn't want to be late! Luckily her top was still good, so it got tucked into the waistband and she chose a thick black elastic belt with a circular brass buckle to tie the outfit together. She looked more like she was ready to wait tables at a barbecue restaurant more than anything else, but she shrugged in the mirror before snatching the pouch, grabbing her purse, and jetting off to the train station.

As she neared the towering office complex, her apprehension grew. She was going to get chewed out for her workwear, or worse yet sent home, and she knew it. After she pushed into the lobby, she hurried past security and into the elevator, feeling a thousand eyes (even if nobody was actually watching) boring into her. The elevator dinged to her floor and she hurried off, realizing as she went to hide behind her desk that she hadn't even put on her bra or panties! Her cheeks darkened and she looked down to make sure that her aereolae weren't visible through the fabric of her top. She could just make them out, but it wasn't so bad as to be lewd. At least so long as nobody stared. Luckily, the desk was such that when she sat down only her head peeked out over the edge. Nobody would see her unless they looked.

Unfortunately for her, Lydia looked. "What the hell are you wearing?" She crowed, making a few of the other receptionists peak out over their desks towards Cindy.

"Um, I didn't have time for laundry last night?" Cindy replied, unsure if that even came close to being a good response.

"And where are your earrings?"

Cindy shrugged instead of answering.

Lydia shook her head and stalked off to her office. Cindy let out a sigh of relief as her boss disappeared around the corner and glanced around to see who had heard the exchange. If anyone had, they'd already pretended like they hadn't, and were busy with work or their phone. Maybe Cindy got lucky. The day progressed more or less normally, with Cindy greeting visitors for Lydia, scheduling appointments, normal stuff. She really thought she was going to get away with it before Lydia waltzed back out to her station.

Lydia didn't say hello, "Check your email, you will need to go pick some things up for me."

Cindy nodded. Part of the job description included picking up lunch or snacks from what she assumed was the café, but wasn't sure. This didn't seem to weird. After clicking into her email she saw a list of addresses and popped them into maps to see where she'd be headed. Clothing stores? Was she going to pick up cleaning? Cindy frowned, not liking the thought of being someone's butler, but packed her purse all the same. At least she was being paid pretty well for the indignity. "Okay, sure thing." They hadn't spoken much since yesterday, and that was just fine for Cindy. "Oh, before I go," She trailed off, rummaging through her purse for Lydia's velveteen bag. She handed it over to a smiling executive.

Lydia leaned over the desk, "Good girl."

Cindy took a quick breath despite herself, and smiled uneasily. "Yeah, sure. I need to get going if you want me to go to all of these places today."

"Of course, meet me in my office when you get back." Lydia spoke while walking away, not bothering to wait for Cindy to acknowledge her request.

Cindy shouldered her purse and moved to the elevator, doing her best not to notice the other receptionists looking at her in the reflection of the polished brass doors. After a few minutes she was down through the lobby and out onto the street. She took a look at her phone and typed in the address of the first place she was set to visit. A clothing store a few blocks away. Perfect, she could walk there without too much trouble, and she did, disappearing into the throng of people that made up the blood of the city.

The store was the sort of place that had a name that didn't identify exactly what it is that they did. Lee's. Could be a sandwich shop, could be a bar, could be anything really. But this Lee's was a clothing store. She was greeted with the dry scent of fabric as she moved in from the street, and glanced at the few rows of racks that packed the small storefront. She took a look at some of the coats that were on the rack, feeling the thickness of the fabric and looking at the workmanship of the stitches. It was good. Too good for her to afford, she was sure, as none of the coats had a price on their tag. Handmade? Custom work? She wasn't sure. There weren't many, and the store wasn't large to begin with, so it was plausible.

"Can I help you?" A voice called out somewhere behind the racks.

Cindy bellied up to the counter to see a mousy older woman peering at her from over her spectacles. "Yeah, uh, I'm here--"

She was cut off by the woman, "Because Lydia sent you. Yes I know, she told me you were coming. Come on then, let's get started."

Cindy's brows furrowed, "Listen, I have other places to go, if you're not ready I can just come back."

The elder woman had already rounded a corner and didn't stop to respond, "Come on, you're not the only busy one!"

Cindy weaved behind the counter and followed the voice, glancing at the various mannequins, bolts of fabric, and other accouterments of what she surmised was an experienced tailor. She paused when she finally found where the woman had gone off to, visibly confused at what she saw. "Uhhhh?" She wasn't sure what to do next. The woman was sitting on a stool next to a small pedestal that was in the center of an otherwise crowded work area.

"Go on, go on!" Chided the seamstress, gesturing the receptionist up to the fitting stand. "You're going to have to take off the skirt so I can measure."

Wait, what? Take off her skirt? Cindy felt dread creeping across her body as she realized what was going on. It wasn't so bad that she was being fitted for clothes, but she didn't have any panties on! "I--I can't afford this," she stammered.

"Already been paid, Lydia's got an account. I make most of her workwear." Countered the seamstress. That wasn't the answer Cindy was looking for, and she took a small step back. "What? I don't bite, I promise. I just need to get your measurements so I can get started. It'll only be a few minutes."

"I...er...I..." Cindy scrambled, trying to think of a way out. "You see, I was running late, and I, y'know. Forgot to put on panties." She looked anywhere but at the seamstress, who struggled not to laugh out loud.

"Girl, I've seen more than my share of people! I make clothes for a living!"

Cindy felt a blush spreading across her chest. She knew she was beet red. "Do I need to get out of my shirt too?"

"Only if you want your clothes to fit."

Cindy laughed at the absurdity of her situation while her fingers fumbled with the buttons to her blouse. "What's your name?" Maybe that would make this feel a bit more normal.

"My name's Lynette. Now please, let's go!"

Cindy blinked at the severe lady and her tight, grey, bun. She was wearing a black knit cardigan that had large buttons that draped over her slight frame. It looked like she was only wearing black leggings underneath, and for a moment Cindy was jealous of how casual she could dress and still be a professional. Before she knew it, she was buck naked for another woman, and stood uneasily on the pedestal.

"Stand still, feet shoulder-width, hands at your sides, like this." Lynette grabbed the other woman by the wrist and posed it at her hips like she wanted. Even though she was a professional, she knew Lydia's type, and she couldn't help but smile as she took in the receptionist's form. "Good. Good." And she began working, drawing a cloth tape across her belly, down the inside of her thighs, over her chest, and across her shoulders, only pausing to take notes in a well-worn notebook that set on a small desk off to the side. Before Cindy could be truly embarrassed it was all over. Maybe five minutes passed as the seamstress hummed a wordless tune and took her notes. Five minutes for Cindy to think about what was going on, how readily she had submitted to another forceful woman, and how it made her feel to be naked and on display--even if it was for a good reason. "Okay, get down, we're done." Lynette remarked, taking the notebook and wandering back out to the front of the store.

"Don't you have any questions for me?" Cindy asked, puzzled.

"What? I already have your measurements!" Lynette retorted.

"But don't you need to know what I want? Fabric? Pattern? Color?!" This all seemed so strange to the receptionist.

"Why would I ask you that? Lydia pays the bills, I'm making what she wants."

"Oh..." Cindy got back into her "workwear" and ambled back out to the counter area. "Uh, I've never," Again, she was cut off.

"Sure, whatever. I have Lydia's work number, I'm sure you'll be answering it, I'll let you know when they're done. Maybe a week."

"Sure." Cindy replied, scratching her head. How normal was it that one woman had another woman's clothes made? By the way Lynette was acting, it was the most common thing in the world. But if so, it was a world that Cindy had never once visited. "Okay then?"

"Goodbye!" Lynette waved her off. It was only after Cindy was back on the street that she realized that the seamstress never even asked her name.

The next few locations on her list were far more normal, or at least as normal as Cindy figured her life would be from here on in. Some actual cleaning for Lydia, checking in with a jewelry store to see about an order (progress was good), and into a shoe store. She noted that none of these places were chains, each was bespoke in its own way that was honestly refreshing for the receptionist. Too much of her life had been dominated by huge faceless corporations that put out middling work and expected top (to her) dollar in return. These places may have been outside her price range, but she was heartened to see actual craftspeople who took pride in the work they provided.

"Hello?" She called out after a set of bells hanging in the doorway announced her entrance to the shoe store. It was a dimly lit place with waist-high shelves packed with various footwear. The scent of wood and leather permeated the air in a comfortable manner.

"Yes hello, can I help you?" Replied a man as he moved from behind the counter where he had been reading some sort of book.

"I was sent here to pick something up, for Lydia?" Cindy smiled at the well coiffed man, looking to be in his 40s, wearing a leather apron and a button-down long sleeved collared shirt underneath.

"Oh yes! I've been expecting you, she called ahead. Come with me."

Cindy nodded and followed, "Do you have bags? I'm going to need something to carry this back in."

"Yes, but," This time Cindy got to cut someone off.

"But you're making something new, right?" Cindy should have guessed.

The man offered up a smile. "Yes! For you. Or, for her, but for you. Y'know?"

"Right." Cindy didn't wait this time, taking her pumps off and sitting down at the stool the cobbler had gestured towards. He took her foot in hand and put it in one of those fancy metal measuring devices. He manipulated it until he was satisfied, nodding at the results as if he already knew what they would be and was merely confirming.

"Okay, that's all I need. And how much do you weigh?" The cobbler held his notepad up, peering past the woman's leg up to her face. The question caught Cindy off guard, and the way she frowned must have shown it. "Oh! No, not because of anything specific, I just want to know how thin I can make the heel. Four inches is awful high and I wouldn't want them to snap if I whittled it down too far!"

Four inches? Cindy's brows lifted and she was too stunned to do anything but answer. "160." She wasn't proud of it, too soft for her liking, but there was no use lying. It would be more embarrassing to snap a heel.

"M'kay. I'll let you know when these are ready. Have a good day, and don't worry, Lydia's got a mean bark, but she's really great once you get to know her!"

Cindy did her best to smile and nod, but all she could think about is how she'd cum for her boss before she even got her first paycheck.

Once she was back on the street, the realization of what had happened sat squarely in her mind. She was being dressed by her boss. To Lydia's liking. She hadn't paid a cent, nobody had said this was part of the job, and she was sure it was crossing another line. She stood still outside the shoe store, staring off across the street at the traffic making its meandering way through the city. Lydia was controlling how she looked in a way that was somehow more personal than her hairstyle. She knew that she wouldn't help but think of her boss as she put on her clothes every morning. She knew that she would be accentuating the features that her boss liked. She knew she was dressing up for another woman. A twinge of electricity jolted across her pussy. She was being made to look good for Lydia. Her taste didn't even matter. Even if she didn't have the executive's vibrator shoved between her thighs she was serving Lydia. Pleasing her. On her way back to the office, she realized she was right near her apartment, and decided to run upstairs to get Lydia's earrings--her earrings? Since she'd remarked on them earlier in the day. It was only after she was back on the elevator to the office, staring at herself in the reflection of the brass-doored elevator, had she realized that she'd wanted to please her boss. The worst part was that she hoped Lydia noticed.

---

The next few weeks passed without incident. Lydia made provocative comments which Cindy did her best to pointedly ignore, but it wasn't anything the receptionist couldn't handle. She'd had far worse from customers downstairs at the café. At least Lydia put some thought into her words. Words that wormed their way into her brain, got her thinking about the executive, wondering what was happening next. If it was something as simple as "Nice tits, babe!" she could brush it off without much thought. But the way Lydia would say how well her blouse complimented the ruby earrings she still wore (hey, don't knock free jewelry) and ask where she got them? That was harder to put out of her mind.

Cindy stood in front of her mirror as she thought about the reasons for why she was doing what she was doing, and frowned as she came to the inevitable conclusion every time. "Because you like it." It was true that she did feel good about the attention she was receiving, in a way she was not at all accustomed to, by a woman no less! Maybe that's what was doing it. Lydia was exotic, new, something she'd never encountered. But there was a far more simple explanation that Cindy would not allow herself to consider. Inevitably, her mind would reach the same conclusion, "Because you like her."

The receptionist finished buttoning up the same white blouse she'd been wearing her entire office career, washed of course, and the same pleated black skirt wrapped around her soft, curvaceous, waist. The worst part about a new job is the lag in getting paid. Who decided it was okay to be a volunteer for two or even three weeks before payroll decided that she should be compensated for her time? It was enough to distract her from the deviant thoughts that swirled around her mind more or less every time she saw her boss.

She settled into her new routine pretty quickly, arriving 30 minutes before the rest of the crew on Lydia's orders to prepare the day's events for the executive. She was a lot more busy than she initially suspected, with multiple callers a day on top of more meetings than she cared to imagine, with more scheduled phone calls than she thought possible. This wasn't even the busy season, or so she was told, but Lydia had an impressive schedule. Cindy gave a nod to the passing mail delivery worker, a short-haired elder man who looked like he was born pushing the mail cart, who gave a genial smile and a wave back. Despite the initial craziness of her first couple days, Cindy liked it here. The other receptionists were nice enough, with far less of the catty high school behavior that she encountered downstairs, and she was more than happy to be off her feet all day. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad, maybe this would work out, and maybe she would stop having such confusingly arousing thoughts about her boss. She had been idly fantasizing about winning the lottery and giving Lydia a real piece of her mind when a message blooped into being on her monitor. It was Lydia, of course. All it read was "My office."