To say that my emotions that night were in turmoil would have been an understatement. I hardly slept after waking from that dream. But when I did, it was fitful and unsettling, full of strange images, leaving me tired, uncertain and on edge... mentally, emotionally and sexually strung out.
How could I get turned on by a dream about being abused? That wasn't what I was about. No way would I have fantasies of submission. It had to be an aberration, my subconscious at work trying to make sense of everything. I was not ready to consider it, even as a naughty idea. Because I was meant to be the one in power, with a future, not getting wet at the thought of being a sexual slave... They were there to serve and lick people like me, not the other way round.
My whole world had turned upside down. Dias and Associates had the reputation I wanted and did the work I desired, even though the job was not what I had expected. Nic was a curveball and now I had rejected him... again. But I felt justified... Surely just because he was the boss' cousin didn't mean I had to compromise myself... even though the boss had compromised me just the day before...
I changed my clothes literally ten times that morning... putting on a longer skirt to show I'm not a whore -- but they had strict instructions about the length... they wanted women in heels, so I slipped my two-inch court shoes on -- no they were clear, they must be higher than three... a loose knit top and sensible underwear -- not what they wanted, it was not rocket science, office sensual is what they called it... no jacket, because Mr Dias said so!
I'd considered whether to call in sick, because I didn't want to have to face Nic. But this was my job, my future, and I wasn't going to give up without a fight. No matter what...
With some apprehension I left for the office in my hybrid outfit, feeling sluttier than all the coffee girls in the world, face subtly made up as was expected. A professional mask to the outside world, covering the turmoil of my emotions.
The morning sun filtered through the trees, but not even the gorgeous spring day could lighten my mood as I walked through the milling crowds. People going about their lives, people that my boss had said would never get anywhere, wouldn't take risks. At that moment I wasn't so sure I wasn't one of them, that I was not so special... I wasn't sure I even liked myself that morning...
No! I couldn't think like that. I was fine. I would make it. I would be successful.
I felt silly when I half expected to be told to see Ms Alves, but I went through security without incident. And to my shame the recollection of my dream caused a slight tingle between my thighs. It was a relief to find that Nic wasn't in the office. Neither was Val.
My email told me they would be out the entire day with Ridge Breta, on the itinerary I'd arranged. I wasn't sure whether my exclusion was always intended or arranged as retaliation for the rejection. But I couldn't let that distract me, because a new instruction had arrived. To arrange refreshments and a couple of 'coffee girls' for the CEO and a client, in the Pantanal Boardroom on the twelfth flood. A level I had yet to gain access to and had only heard rumours about its existence...
It seemed these 'personnel' requests were channelled though Ms Alves' office, which I did. Miraculously her assistant Debbie was instantly available to make the bookings, and her professional non-nonsense attitude defrayed any awkwardness I may have felt.
A couple of hours later I found myself outside the Pantanal Boardroom standing beside two barely dressed women... coffee girls... whores... I didn't really know what to call them or how to think about them. I hadn't given instructions for them to be half naked, wearing only those ridiculous little thongs. Like the one I had been given to wear a couple of days before, with stupidly high heels that must have been almost impossible to walk in.
Numbers tattooed on their backsides, O 112 and O 121, just like the other 'coffee girls' I'd seen before. Marked as whores, as if they were owned. How desperate must they be? How much money must they be paid to do this? To willingly degrade themselves for the company. To serve their betters. I couldn't imagine what it must be like.
Yet there they were, standing patiently outside the boardroom doors, waiting to be let in. The first, 112 was a dirty blond with sultry eyes and a naturally pouting mouth to match her miniscule pink panties. Seeing her up close, I realised that she looked so similar to me in hair colour, skin tone and features, that she could have been my sister. I had to shake the feeling that it could be me standing there, reminding myself that I was different to them, I had something they did not and would not make the decisions they must have made to become company whores. Her small gold nipple rings confirmed the distinction, because I had never had any interest in body piercing or tattoos.
The other woman numbered 121 was classically beautiful, a statuesque model with auburn hair contrasting with her almost non-existent olive-green lingerie. Their made-up faces and rouged nipples clearly designed to entice the unknown men behind the closed doors to do whatever they desired. For a moment I wanted to be one of those men, knowing that these shameless sluts were waiting to perform my bidding. When they deigned to let them in. Until then they would have to wait outside... like me...
It'd been quite a process to get up to this level. I'd been made to wait for clearance at the elevator that was tucked around behind the CEO's office, by a man who looked more like militia than office security. It wasn't what I expected, but I said nothing and waited, until he'd cleared me. The way he licked his lips and looked at me was creepy and made me feel really uncomfortable. I know that doesn't sound so bad, but when you are the target of creepiness, it feels horrible... no, it's awful and dehumanising and...
I was shaken by that experience, not knowing what to make of it. But this was my job and I needed to do it to the best of my ability. Even if it made me feel dirty, and a little bit scared.
I looked at the other women and they looked back at me... fixed expressions, pasted smiles, absolute silence...
"Hello. How are you?" I said, in a mundane greeting, whether to break the silence or to start a conversation, I'm no longer sure. In retrospect, it was a silly thing to ask. But it was the only thing I could think of to cut the interminable tension in the corridor.
How would they be, displayed and ready to serve their superiors? Having given up their lives to be figuratively owned. How must it feel to have the burden of thought removed? How easy it must be, knowing exactly what they were for, as if they were created for this role, devoid of emotion, following all instructions to the letter, experiencing only the physical stimuli that were imposed on them. Had they too been independent educated women, that were now only valued for their looks and physical attributes? And their obedience...
I should have expected it, but neither of them said anything, they just smiled meekly at me, shook their heads apologetically and wriggled their almost naked bodies as if that would appease me. I wondered whether they were forbidden to speak or had nothing to say.
