Ch.04: The First Performance
I knocked politely at the door to the CEO's private office.
No answer.
The murmur of male voices in conversation within.
I was naked but for a skimpy pair of pink silk panties and matching pink Italian leather glamour sandals with spiked heels. They had been left on my desk earlier that day, boxed and wrapped. The attached note had said simply 'CEO's office, 2 pm'.
I knocked again, more firmly.
The height of the heels forced my bottom out as I straightened my legs. My breasts had never felt so bare, so exposed. They jutted out neatly, the nipples pert, shiny.
I gulped.
It was really happening. How surreal: I was just about to give my first performance for the CEO - the man who had raped and humiliated me. I hadn't seen him at all since then. How was I going to react to seeing him again? Was I really going to present my naked breasts to him and entertain him with my dancing?
I desperately wanted to be called in so that I could get on with the dance. Imagine being caught standing there like that in the corridor: The senior PA stripped to her panties, knocking dutifully at the CEO's door.
The rumble of conversation persisted beyond the door. Who else was in there? Why didn't they let me in? Should I just go ahead and enter?
"Come." The CEO's authoritative voice finally called out.
I pushed the door open hesitantly and peeked into the lavishly furnished office. Instantly I felt three pairs of eyes on my breasts: The CEO and two other men I hadn't seen before. They looked rich in their shiny suits; probably guests from a city bank or something. I felt their gaze move to my pink knickers, lingering a while there. Then to my heels. One of the men smiled and nodded appreciatively.
"Yes?" The CEO peered at me over his glasses.
I had been instructed to expect this. Apparently, the CEO liked to impress his guests by pretending to be surprised at interruptions to his meetings.
"Hello sir," I responded as I had been told to. "I was wondering if you would permit me to dance for you sir?"
The only other prior instruction I had been given me was that I should then start to dance. Even as I closed the door behind me, I had started to sway my hips. I stepped cautiously into the room, placed my hands on my hips, and started to wriggle my body, just as I had seen the whores at 'The Scrava' do.
The CEO reclined back in his high-backed chair and lifted his feet onto the desk. One of the guests leaned back against a wall. The other man remained seated in a comfortable looking armchair across the office. They were positioned such that as I turned and wriggled my body for them, no part of it was hidden from their gaze.
I was on display. The CEO had spanked me into this. He had fucked me into this. And there I was, gratefully dancing for him. I must have seemed so willing, so eager to be wriggling my breasts for them, so grateful to have the opportunity to prance around in those pink Italian heels and display myself to him...
After a few minutes they seemed to get used to me being there, since they appeared to get back to business. They discussed loudly and proudly how wonderful the South of France was at that time of year - a good time for property apparently, and how they really must sell that old yacht and get a newer model...
Meanwhile, I danced. I wriggled, paraded back and forth, turned, twisted, pouted, ran my fingers through my hair, leaned forwards to show off the curves of my bum.
The meeting dragged on and on. At least an hour by now. They discussed numbers and percentages... Honestly, to this day I have no idea what it all meant. I just kept going, doing what was required of me.
When I heard a knock on the door, I tried not to let it distract me. I turned and kept wriggling my rear, vaguely aware of someone entering the room behind me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw one of the CEO's many bleached-blonde secretaries place a pile of papers on his desk. She wore the usual micro-length skirt and heels. I had seen her around – I think we had even greeted each other once or twice. I had never been sure if I out-ranked her (I was the Senior PA to the CTO, she was one of the many secretaries to the CEO). I knew now. She clearly out-ranked me – It was I who was dancing topless in her presence, wriggling my bottom for her.
She was so young though - not yet twenty! How could someone so young possibly be allowed to see me dancing topless like that?
"Stay and take notes, Nicola," the CEO invited her.
She sat in a vacant chair, clicked her pen and busied herself scribbling on a pad of paper.
I kept dancing. I brushed my fingers down the sides of my breasts, my hips, my thighs, my bottom. I was too embarrassed to look at her, but I felt her eyes on me. How could this girl - at least five years younger than me - be considered senior to me!? It didn't make sense. She should be the one performing, shouldn't she?
Nicola sat silently while the men talked. I dared a quick glance over at her once or twice. She was staring right at me, clearly enjoying the spectacle of my naked torso writhing for her entertainment.
"Elizabeth," the CEO said eventually, after what could only have been two hours of continuous dancing. Why hadn't I thought of asking how long each session would last? My legs ached terribly - those ridiculous heels were difficult enough to walk in, let alone dance in.
"Yes sir," I answered promptly, not daring to stop dancing however much it hurt.
"I want you do dance for Nicola until we get back."
He stood up and his two guests followed him out of the room. They left Nicola the bleached-blond secretary behind. They left me dancing for her.
I didn't want to continue - I felt utterly humiliated. But I had signed a deal. I had accepted this. I had agreed to dance for my superiors – and evidently Nicola was my superior, whether I liked it or not. I had to dance for her: It was my job.
She put down her pencil and notepad and smiled at me strangely. She lent back in her chair, put her feet up on the arms of the sofa next to her, crossed her ankles, showing me most of her thighs.
She giggled. God – she was so young! And there I was, dancing topless for her in a pair of skimpy pink panties.
Suddenly she snapped her fingers.
"Come on! Dance!" she demanded. "Put some enthusiasm into it!"
It is true that I had been dancing more lethargically. While that was partly due to exhaustion, it was mostly due to the fact that I was having trouble reconciling what was happening to me.
I wanted to refuse. But I didn't, couldn't.
I wanted my dignity back, but I suppose I was too afraid to stop - or at least too afraid of the consequences of stopping. That would mean breaking the agreement, wouldn't it? And if I broke the agreement... What would happen then? I would have put myself through this humiliation for nothing... And in a way, that would be even more humiliating. Humiliating yourself for material gain is one thing, but humiliating yourself for nothing – that was just foolish, wasn't it?
If I stopped now I would have been raped for nothing. I had even signed it off! The humiliation would be tenfold. They would laugh about the girl who danced topless for one of the CEO's secretaries - for nothing, who bent over and allowed herself to be fucked from behind by the CEO in the lift - for nothing, and who showed her appreciation by sucking her own arse-juice off the CEO's thumb - for nothing.
I gritted my teeth and slowly increased the movement in my tired hips and legs.
"Turn around," Nicola said firmly. "I want to see your bum wriggling for me. And come closer."
I obeyed each instruction, hiding my reluctance as best I could.
"More." she barked, "Move your butt more."
Again, I obeyed her request.
"Bend over more, and wriggle that bottom for me as fast as you can," she ordered.
I had to endure it – let her have her fun. I was a dancer. I would dance for her, but no more. I was sure of that.
I bent over as far I could without toppling over and wriggled my bottom furiously for her.
"Good," she said. "You're starting to get the idea."
She had me shake my bum for her for what seemed an eternity. She was playing with me. I was her plaything. Her doll. My eyes started to swell with water. I wanted to stop wiggling my bottom for her, but the doubts persisted.
"Stop," she ordered finally.
I stopped gratefully and stood upright, facing away from her.
"That was nice," she congratulated me. "I love to see my girls wriggling their arses for me. Now... let's give your feet a rest - you can kneel for me and wriggle your hips from there." She pointed to the carpet at her feet.
