Secretarial Submission

This is a revision of Secretarial Submission, Part 1. In working on a sequel, I decided I had thrown so much into the first chapter that it was hard to get a second one going. I have cut it back somewhat, particularly in the final third, and kept the action to not much more than one day. Thanks to the readers who commented on the first version and to anybody who takes the time to read this one.

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Part 1: Initiation

Marissa sat with her hands folded in her lap, waiting. She realized she was old enough to sit less primly, but it was an old habit that her mother drilled into her. She always reverted to it when she was nervous.

She was startled when Mr. Jenkins opened his office door and called her in. She jumped up so suddenly that she stumbled and had to take a moment to find her balance before heading in. He closed the door and told her to have a seat.

There was only one chair for her to take. Audrey, the office manager, was sitting by the window, where the sun was shining through and obscuring her face from Marissa's point of view.

"Thanks for staying," Mr. Jenkins said as he sat down. "Let me say, right off, that you have nothing to worry about. I know that people can be nervous about their probationary evaluation, and I want to make sure you know we have nothing but good things to say, so please relax."

Marissa smiled nervously, but could not get rid of that feeling that she was in for a scolding. Her hands fluttered in her lap, and she fought the urge to fold them.

Mr. Jenkins handed her some papers. "This is your evaluation. Please read it over."

She took them and began to read in her usual conscientious way. Her eyes grew wide when she realized that only the word Excellent was checked on the list of job skills, and she started to tear up when she read such comments as "Shows initiative, always willing to help, a joy to work with." Having grown up with a steady diet of recriminations, no matter how hard she tried, these words had a strong emotional effect on her.

She struggled to maintain her composure and read through to the end, where she saw a recommendation that she should be given more responsibility and consider advanced studies. She was afraid to say anything, so she looked up and smiled.

Mr. Jenkins nodded at her. "There is a space on the last page for you to write your own comments on the evaluation and to sign, if you accept these findings."

She wrote, "Thank you very much for this review," in the available space and signed her name. Feeling a little more confident in her ability to speak, she asked as she handed the papers back, "What do you mean by advanced studies?"

"It has always been our goal to help our staff move on in business. You can talk to Audrey further about this, but essentially we will pay for your education through a master's degree in your chosen field."

He then handed her a separate piece of paper, outlining her salary increase for the next year. The amount was so beyond anything she could have expected that she was again afraid to talk, except to croak out a "Thank you."

Mr. Jenkins handed the other papers to Audrey, whose face was still hidden in the sunlight, and turned back to Marissa. "There is something else I want to discuss with you. I want to be very clear that this is not related to your work, that your evaluation and your salary are locked in place no matter what you say or decide about this other matter, and that if you are so troubled by this idea that you feel you cannot work here, we will provide a severance for six months at your increased salary. Here is a contract to that effect."

Marissa broke into a sweat as she reached for the papers. "I knew this was too good to be true," she thought. She was about to read them when Mr. Jenkins said, "You can read those at home, after you hear what I have to say. Remember, you are now off work, this is a separate discussion."

She settled back and folded her hands in her lap over the paper. She was ready for the worst.

"You are an observant young woman, and you have probably noticed that several long-term members of our staff seem to be especially close. Audrey and I believe that you have several of the same personality traits." He leaned forward and looked directly at her. "Do you know what it means to be sexually submissive? Have you ever heard that term?"

Marissa shook her head, almost imperceptibly, as though she was afraid too much movement would knock it off.

"We can go into more detail later, but Audrey and I both believe that you have the makings of a submissive and that you would benefit from full indulgence in that part of your personality. Many of the people here have done so, and their lives have improved dramatically."

He put a book-sized package on the edge of his desk. "In there is more information about submissives, about what we have done, with some anonymous comments from people who have been through the process, and instructions if you want to follow up." He stood up. "You can choose to leave the package, and we will have no further discussion. You can take the package and make a decision after you have read through the information. If you show up tomorrow morning, dressed in your usual clothes, we will conclude that you have decided against it. As I said, if you decide you don't want to work here any more, we will make the appropriate severance arrangements. However, if you come back in the clothes included in that package, following the exact instructions laid out in there, then I believe you will be embarking on a journey that will change your life. Please give it some thought."

He stood there for a moment until Marissa realized it was time for her to go. She took the package, said goodbye to both of them, got her belongings from her desk, and left.

BACK AT HER ONE-ROOM APARTMENT, she put the package on the table and went through her evening routine: took off her office clothes, neatly put them away, put on an old smock and slippers, and pulled her leftovers out of the refrigerator. After dinner and cleaning up, she sat at the table and stared at the package. After five minutes, she opened it. The first item before her was a simple typed page.

"In sexual situations, a submissive is one who entrusts himself or herself to a dominant person for the purposes of serving, obeying, training, and transforming themselves in compliance with the desires of the dominant person. The subservience developed in a sexual environment or relationship may or may not apply to their relations in daily life." The paper then went to describe a number of ways in which submissive training and experience might play out. It concluded, "It has been our experience that submissives who fully indulge these tendencies become more fully assertive and confident in all aspects of their lives."

Next was a handwritten note signed by Mr. Jenkins and Audrey:

Marissa,

If you want to follow through on this proposal, come to work tomorrow wearing and carrying only what is in this package. Take the bus to work, as you usually do. You will receive further instructions as the day progresses.

If you do not want to participate, just throw this whole package away.

/s/ Arthur and Audrey

PS Important note: DO NOT WEAR ANYTHING ELSE OTHER THAN WHAT'S IN THE PACKAGE. Doing so would violate this contract.

Under the note were a white short-sleeved blouse, a short black tube skirt, a pair of open-toed sandals, and a small handbag with a shoulder strap. She stared at them for a few minutes, trying to absorb how different they were from everything else she had ever worn. They were the sort of thing her mother would have denounced as slutty, before condemning the woman wearing them as a whore. Then suddenly Marissa realized there was no underwear in the package. No bra, no panties, no slip, nothing. She was stunned by the notion that she would be traveling almost naked and that it would be easy for people to see her naked parts under the short skirt.

She felt faint from this realization and sat back in the chair. Thoughts about what could go wrong blasted through her mind, raising her anxiety higher and higher. Then she squeezed her knees and remembered the day she had decided she had to leave her family in order to become herself. The same flood of fears had run through her, yet she stuck to her guns and made the break. There had been ups and downs, and she had often thought about running home, yet she always came back to the same understanding that to do so would be to admit defeat to herself.

She got up and walked into her bedroom, where she stood before the full-length mirror on the closet door. After a few minutes, she unbuttoned her smock and let it fall. She stared at herself in nothing but bra and panties, and thought, "This is what decent girls wear," yet how often had she stared at other, softer, skimpier underwear in department stores. She had yearned to wear something nicer, but had never made the break. She unhooked her bra and slid it off her shoulders.

She had never known what to think of her breasts. Nobody else had ever touched them, and her mother had conveyed a sense of shame when they first began to appear. Better to bind them and keep them covered, she warned her daughter. Now Marissa lifted them and pushed them together slightly. What happens if I leave them loose, she wondered.

She moved her hands to the waistband of her full, white panties. A sense of trepidation filled her as she started to push them down. She only took them down for bathing and to go to the bathroom. But now they fell to the floor, and she stood in front of the mirror fully naked. She felt some embarrassment rising to her cheeks, but she stayed there, pushing herself to believe that she had nothing to fear, nothing to be embarrassed about.

She was staring at the mass of pubic hair on her crotch. She believed some women trimmed themselves there, but she had never had that inclination. On the other hand, she had never worn such a short skirt before. Would that be a problem? She pulled some of the longer strands straight and decided to trim them a little. After about half an hour, the mass was not quite so shaggy, and she decided that would be enough for now. She went to lie down on her bed.

I guess I have decided to do this, she said to herself, lying naked on top of her sheets. She had always slept in a nightgown with panties, so this felt very daring. She lay there staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours, convinced she would not get any sleep, but the alarm and a room full of sun proved her wrong.

AS SOON AS SHE STEPPED OUTSIDE, the cool air on her bare pussy startled her, and she almost ran back in fear. She took a breath and headed on out to the street to catch the bus. The same familiar people were at the bus stop, and a few of them gave her a strange look, but then the bus came, and they all turned their attention to getting on. She got a seat on the aisle next to an older woman, who took one look at her and spent the rest of the ride looking out the window.

For the full half hour of the ride, Marissa tried to relax and look around at the other commuters, but she could not shake the feeling that everybody could see right through her clothing. Her breasts jiggled at every bump of the bus, and she looked down every time to make sure they had not become exposed, even though she knew rationally that was not physically possible.

By the time she got to her stop, she was already worn out from worry. In a sense, this made it easier for her to stand, walk down the aisle, and get off the bus. The air on her pussy felt nice this time, since it cooled off some of the tension she had been holding.

It was a short two blocks to her office. Fortunately, nobody she knew was on the street at the time. Two men walking and wrapped up in a conversation looked startled as she drew close, but she kept on going. It was not until she was one door away from her building that she got nervous again, because she would see people she knew.

The guard at the security desk looked up when she came in, and his eyes went wide. Then he smiled and said, "Morning, miss Clayton," as she swiped her badge against the time clock. He watched her walk to the elevator, then went back to his reading.

When she stepped into her company's offices, the receptionist did a double-take and greeted her with a note of surprise in her voice. Marissa did not trust herself to speak, so just nodded and headed in.

Mr. Jenkins's office was at the back of the suite and to get there, she had to walk between two rows of desks and open offices. Everybody looked up as she passed. Some of those who had been there for a while smiled and nodded at her, and she occasionally nodded back. Some of the newer employees, though, gasped and seemed about to say something, when they were silenced by a more experienced colleague. Obviously, this sort of thing had happened before, though not in the six months that Marissa had been working there.

When she got to her desk and sat down, she felt relief. There was work to be done, and she could concentrate on that to the exclusion of everything else. After about an hour, Audrey came by to see her. "I'm glad to see you've made this decision," she told Marissa. "I think you'll be pleased in the long run. By the way, do you have any pets or anything at home that needs to be tended to on a daily basis?"

Puzzled, Marissa shook her head. Audrey said, "Good. Mr. Jenkins will probably come by to see you in an hour." Then she walked away. Marissa's nerves were suddenly on edge, and she found little solace in her work.

Mr. Jenkins showed up a little less than an hour later, carrying a plastic shopping bag. "Good morning, Marissa. I'm glad to see what you decided. I have an instruction for you. This will be the first of many that you'll receive until we decide that your training is over. Your only response will be to do what you are told. Understand?" She sat up straight and nodded.

He reached into the bag and pulled out a small white jar. "Your first task will be to shave your pubic area." Marissa turned bright red and felt faint not only at what her boss had just told her, but also that he had spoken in a normal tone of voice, making no effort to be quiet. She was sure at least half the office could have heard him. "This is a special shaving cream that will make it easier for you. Here are some clippers to remove most of the hair before you shave. Here is a razor, a washcloth, some lotion, and a card with some guidelines for shaving yourself. You can use the family bathroom in the hallway, so you can lock the door and have some privacy. Please be back here before lunch." He crumpled up the plastic bag and took it into his office. Just before he went in, he turned around and added, in a louder voice, "And when you come back, be sure to unbutton two of the top buttons of your blouse, and two from the bottom." Then he turned and closed the door.

She sat there in shock with the cream, clippers, and other supplies on her desk. She was afraid to turn around, since she was convinced that everybody was staring at her. Yet she knew she had to get up and go to the bathroom, so she could carry out this assignment. Mr. Jenkins had taken the bag, so the items would be on display as she carried them. Tears were filling her eyes, and she felt sheer terror at the thought of what she had got herself into. At the same time, she knew that she was on the verge of something profound, and she would do it.

She stood up, smoothed her very short skirt, picked the clippers, the cream, and other supplies, and walked straight down the row of desks. She kept her head up, facing forward, vaguely aware of some stares, but determined to remain focused.

In the bathroom, she locked the door and allowed herself to breathe deeply. After a few sobs, she looked at herself in the mirror. This calmed her down. She unbuttoned the top two buttons of her blouse, just as Mr. Jenkins had ordered, then the lower two, and she giggled. Her mother, of course, would be outraged. She had no idea how her father might react, since he just agreed with everything mother said. But now, she was on her own, and it felt good, worth giggling over.

She slid the short skirt off and stepped out of it. There was that pubic hair. Somehow, it still looked pretty massive, despite last night's trimming. She got the clippers and sat over the toilet, her legs spread wide. As she started to run the clippers over her mound, she thought about how obscene her mother would have considered this posture. But the more she sat there and the more she trimmed, the more comfortable she felt, both with the posture and with herself.

As she watched more of her bush being trimmed, she became fascinated by the roundness of the flesh and the emergence of the cleft, followed by the folds of sensitive flesh that were her labia. She had to be careful now, as she trimmed closer to these sensitive folds.

When she had finished with the clippers, she stood up and looked at herself in the mirror. She felt like a different person, as though she were liberated from the restricted girl that her mother had raised and was now wandering in a new field looking for somebody new. She picked up the shaving cream and read the instructions. It would be useful to soften the stubble with a warm washcloth, so she ran hot water on it and held it against her mound. In order to speed the process, she gave herself a little massage and began feeling sensations radiate to the surrounding area.

She remembered a time when her mother discovered her rubbing herself between her legs and started screaming at her for being so evil. She had been so terrified at that outburst that she had since been afraid to ever touch herself there.

Until now.

As the sensations spread through her body, she began gasping and moaning in response. She rubbed herself more vigorously, to the point where the washcloth slipped to the side, and she was rubbing her fingers right along and even between her wet and slippery and engorged pussy lips. She felt herself losing control and then was startled when one finger slid into the hole between her lips, into her vagina, her pussy. What a sudden feeling of joy!

Just then, there was the sound of somebody trying to open the door.

Her throat closed, and her heart started racing. The voice on the other side immediately said, "Oh, sorry," but Marissa was completely overwhelmed by panic. She sat on the floor, her back against the wall, and it took her a while to catch her breath. She ran her hands along her mound, feeling the stubble, and decided it was time to shave.

She went to the sink and rubbed the shaving cream all around her pussy and slowly began to carefully shave the area. Even the sensation of dragging the razor blade across her tender skin was arousing, and she occasionally gasped as she touched her pussy lips to pull them out of the way of the blade.

Soon she felt that she had covered as much as she could, and she looked at herself in the mirror. So smooth and so different from what she had ever seen before. She let her fingers roam over the slick surface. There were still a few scratchy spots, but she supposed that was inevitable. The area was a little itchy, so she took the tube of lotion and rubbed a little bit all over. That felt better.

She could not stay there for the whole day, she realized. She stepped into her tube skirt, picked up the shaving supplies, and headed out. Her nervousness returned as she approached the office suite, but it was not as paralyzing as it had been in the morning. The receptionist smiled at her, and she smiled back, but she could not look at her for more than a split second, and she certainly was not ready to speak to anybody. Fortunately, most people in the office were concentrating on their work or talking with others, so very few noticed her returning with an armful of shaving supplies. She got to her desk quickly, put everything into one of the drawers of her desk, and sat down with a great sense of relief. She had completed her first assignment.